Woodbarrow Farm 



PLAY IN THREE ACTS 



BY 



JEROME K. JEROME 



Copyright, 1904, by Samuel French 



CAUTION :— Professionals and Amateurs are hereby notified 

that this play is fully copyrighted under the existing laws of 

the United States Government, and nobody is allowed 

to do this play without first having obtained 

permission of Samuel French, 24 West 

22d St., New York City, U. S. A. 



NEW YORK 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publister 
26 WEST 22d STREET 



LONDON 
SAMUEL FRENCH, Lt<L 

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Woodbarrow Farm 



THE VAUDEVILLE 



A Comedy in Three Acts 



EROME K. JEROME 



January 13th, 1891 



. :*• .Mr. Thomas Thorne. 

^ 1, ■ o "I'liA Mr. Bernard Gould. 

Allen Rolhtt ^ y^_ York. 

Luke Cranbourne JJ • Hamilton-Knight. 

Mike Stratton ^J- J'" g ^^^.^^^_ 

Hon. Tom Gubsett ^ Grove 

Baron Von Schnorr ^^i... . j^ ' j^.Knight. 

Richard Hanmngford Mr. K Ha^^^^^^ 

Ichabod ^^^ j_ wheatman. 

9^" T?^r r . . • Miss Emily Thorne. 

Mrs^ Rolhtt __ ^^^g Williamson. 

Rachae ^^ £lla Banister. 

Deborah Deacon ^^^^^^ ^ 



/Z-^i 



1^1 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY 



Act I 
Woodbarrow Farm, Exmoor 

Act II 
13a, St. James' Mansions 

Act III 

Scene i — Same as Act II., or 

Library at 13a, St. James' Mansions 

Sc:ne 2 — Woodbarrow Farm 
Time : The Present 



Woodbarrow Farm 



ACT I. 

MUSIC TO OPEN act: OLD ENGLISH AIR. 

Scene: Kitchen at Woodbarrow Farm. An ideal old 
farmhouse kitchen. From the smoke-black- 
ened ceiling beams hang huge sides of bacon, 
strings of onions, and herbs, and poultry. 
Over the great fireplace are the guns, and in 
profusion everywhere are the homely furnish- 
ings of a prosperous farmhouse kitchen. A 
huge Hre burns e. in old-fashioned fireplace, 
with settle on each side. Door l.c. at back 
opening on corner of farmyard. Latticed win- 
dow looking out on yard to r. of door. Table 
R.C. piled with linen waiting to be folded. 
Linen press L. Door l. below press. Settle 
in front of press. Mrs. Rollitt at table r.c. 
discovered ironing. She folds up clothes as 
she finishes with them, and crosses and places 
them one by one in press L. 

Mrs. R. Rachael ! Rachael ! ! (Crossing h. then crosses 
to R. at back of table r.c.) Ah, drat the girls — alius phil- 
andering about with the boys when they're wanted. 
Rachael ! 

(Enter Rachael^ she comes slowly forward to l.c.) 
Rach. Did you call, ma'am? 

Mrs. R. (At table.) Did I call? Why thee be get- 
ing deaf in thee old age sure, Rachael. 
Rach. I was in the dairy, ma'am. 
Mrs. R. In the dairy! Well, and the dairy bean't 



8 WOODBARROW FARM 

a mile off, be it? I expect there wur Joe's thick head 
'twixt you and the sound of my voice, warn't there? 

Rach. No, ma'am. 

Mrs. R. Whose wur it, then? 

Rach. Ichabod's, ma'am. I — I mean Mr. Ichabod was 
lielping me, ma'am. 

Mrs. R. What at? (Pause.) How often am I to tell 
'ee I won't have that hulking scamp hanging about here 
after his work's done. Do 'ee understand? 

Rach. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. R. Here's getting on for 8 o'clock, and thee master 
may be home any minute as hungry as a hunter, poor lad, 
and noothing ready for his supper. Get down the ham 
(Rachael goes to fireplace r.), and bring me in the fry- 
ing-pan and I'll do it myself. 

Rach. (Turning to go.) Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. R. And don't be half-an-hour about it. Is 
Ichabod gone? 

Rach. Oh yes, ma'am. 
(Mrs. R. turns to her work, Ichabod appears at door at 

back, with a trout in his hand. Rachael catching sight 

of him stops, and motions him to go away.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, a good thing for un as he has, if I catch 
im here again to-night, I'll — (Rachael makes sign to 
Ichabod zuho is up c. Mrs. R. looks at Rachael.) — Lord 
help the lass, be she struck foolish? Bean't 'ee agoing? 

Rach. Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. R. Well then, do ut. Thee keeps on saying, 
"yes, ma'am," "yes, ma'am," and there 'ee sticks. (Drops 
eyes. Rachael makes sign to Ichabod. Mrs. Rollitt 
catches her.) 

(Ichabod does not understand Rachel, and tries to ex- 
. plain to her in pantomime about the trout, which he 

holds up and points to. Mrs. Rollitt follows Rach- 

ael's eyes, and sees Ichabod. Rachael is struck dumb, 

and Ichabod grins and pulls his hair.) 

Mrs. R. If thee don't take theeself off pretty soon, my 
boy, I'll do that for un. (He makes no answer but con- 
tinues pulling his hair and grinning, making a few steps 
forzvard and still holding out the trout. Mrs. Rollitt 
advances to him slowly.) 

Mrs. R. (Comes c.) How often am I to tell 'ee I 
won't have 'ee loafin' about here after thee work's done, 
and thee mother waiting for thee at home, thee good-for- 
nothing young — (eyeing the trout) — aye, but he be a 
bonny un that. 



WOODBARROW FARM 9 

IcH. Thowt maybe he'd do for the measter's supper, 
ma'am. He wur a-having his own not half-an-hour 
agone, ma'am. 

Mrs. R. (l. with fish in hand.) Her be a three pound 
un, Ichabod. 

IcH. As full as an egg, her be, just. Thee feel her, 
ma'am. 

Mrs. R. Ah, well, I won't say but what thee a'-', a 
thoughtful lad, Ichabod, and it will be main good for thee 
measter's supper. See there's a clear fire. {Crosses R. 
Enter Deborah from staircase l.) Rachael, and bring 
me the stew pan and we'll boil un. 

Deb. No, don't boil it, aunt. {Takes £sh from Mrs. 
R.) Let me fry it. Allen alius likes 'em best that way. 
(Goes R. c. up stage.) 

Mrs. R. So un does, lass, so un does. Ah, thee knaw 
what the lad loikes, thee shall fry it. (Hands trout to 
Deb.) And I'll finish the linen while I've got my hand on 
it. (At back of table R. c.) 

Deb. Allen will like that, I know. Where did you 
get it? 

IcH. (Confused and grinning.) What, me, Miss? 

Deb. Not poached, I hope, Ichabod? 

IcH. (Offended.) Poached, Miss? No, Miss, I wur 
trying to teach a fly of mine to swim, that wur all, Miss, 
and when I took un from the water there wur this thing 
hanging on to the end of un, and I couldn't get 'un off. 

Mrs. R. (At table r. c.) Thee'd best stop awhile now, 
Ichabod, and the girls will gie un a bit sup. Thee mother 
will be main glad to be rid o' ye a bit, I take it. 

IcH. Thank ye, ma'am. Mother's alius glad to be rid 
of me at supper toime. (To Deborah.) Gie me un, 
Miss, I'll clean un for ye. (Takes fish from Deborah, 
goes dozvn h. at back of settle.) 

Rach. Shall I cook un. Miss? 

Mrs. R. Na, na, thee bring the pan in here, Rachael, 
I woan't trust the master's supper to 'ee, while there's a 
pair of breeches about the room. 

Rach. (Crosses l. with a toss of her head.) I'm sure 
I don't want 'em there at all. (Picks up buckets near 
door L. down stage.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, thee wouldn't ha' the lad theer wi'out 'em ! 
Go and do as I tell 'ee. 

[Rachael hits Ichabod with bucket. Exeunt Rachael 
and Ichabod l. door down stage.] 

Mrs. R. The lad will enjoy it all the more if thee cook it 



lo WOODBARROW FARM 

for un. Ah, and he do enjoy his food too. It do me 
good to see un eat. 

Deb. He does you a lot of good that way, doesn't he, 
aunt ? 

Mrs. R. (Laughing.) Ah, yes, he be like his father wur 
before him, a rare trencher man. Ah, but they're better 
than those as doesn't eat much, but sits a-turning and 
a-smelling, and a-grumbling at everything that's set before 
them, for all the world like an overfed turkey cock trying 
to eat potato peelings. Thee wean't ha' much trouble 
looking arter un when I'm gone. 

Deb. (Goes to fireplace R.) Oh, aunt, how naughty 
you are, always talking of being " gone," just as if you 
were an old woman. 

Mrs. R. No, no, lass, I bean't talking of being gone 
now. I've many a year before me yet, please God. But 
it must come sometime, thee knaws, and I like to think 
that when it do there'll be someone to gie the lad his bit 
of food, and look arter un loike — and. Lord, a man do 
want a power of looking arter to be sure. 

Deb. (At tire R. making it up.) I think that's why we 
love 'em, aunt, because they're so helpless. 

Mrs. R. (Cross to l.) Ah, maybe it is. There must 
be summut to account for it. 

Deb. And I suppose they be like the poultry. They 
get fond of us because we feed them. He does say I've 
got a good hand for cooking, aunt. 

Mrs. R. (Cross to R.) Ah, yes, lass. It be a light 
hand for the kitchen and a cool hand for the dairy. It 
will make a good hand for a farmer's wife. (Takes De- 
borah's hand at fable R.) 

Deb. I don't think Allen will want a farmer's wife, 
aunt. 

Mrs. R. Lord, whose wife should a farmer want, then? 

Deb. (Pokes fire R.) I don't think Allen wants to 
be a farmer at all. He says he wants to be a somebody, 
not a nobody. 

Mrs. R. Well, bean't a farmer somebody? 

Deb. Somebody, aunt, but not a somebody. Allen 
wants to be in the world, you know, aunt. 

Mrs. R. Well,, and he be in the world sure, ain't he? 
Sure I think I ought to know. (Cross to L.) 

Deb. No, not in the world he means, aunt. Not in the 
great world as they call it. 

Mrs. R. Ah ! he be in God's world, that ought to be 
big enough for un. (Cross to R.) 

Deb. (A little spitefully.) Yes, aunt, but it's not select 



WOODBARROW FARM ii 

■enough. There's all sorts of common people in God's 
world. Allen wants to be in the big world of lords and 
ladies and big folk up in London. He says it's being 
buried alive down here; that he wants to be among the 
stir and bustle. 

Mrs. R. {Cross to u, putting clothes in press.) Ah! 
that be only his talk. The young uns be all alike. They 
run arter shadows like the chickens do arter chaff. 
{Cross L.) Why, I mind when I wur a lass, I used to 
look in the glass and think I'd be a duchess. But the 
dook didn't come, so I just married thee uncle. The 
young ducks all fancies as they'll paddle off to the sea, 
but they live and dies in the old pond arter all. {Crosses 
to R.) 

Deb. {Laughing.) And you think that your duck will 
live and die in the Woodbarrow pond, aunt? {Helps 
Mrs. Rollitt to fold.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, bless un, yes, the lads they fancy that any 
place is better than the old home; but arter they've had a 
good look round, they know that the old home's better 
than any place else. He'll flutter about a bit maybe 
{looks at Deborah), but he'll settle down in the nest 'fore 
long, and the children will be running about the house 
(Deborah turns away a little) and making it untidy — 
bless 'em — afore I close my eyes. 

Deb. {Demurely.) I wonder who he'll marry. 

Mrs. R. Ah, I wonder now. {Crosses to put linen in 
chest of drawers.) 

Deb. (r. folding linen.) There's Polly Steddles. 
He walked home from church with her last Sunday. I 
think he's a little sweet on Polly Steddles, don't you, 
aunt? 

(Mrs. R. comes l. of table r.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, it bean't much good being a little sweet 
on a girl that size. It would take a power of sweetness 
to go round her. {Crosses l. with linen.) 

Deb. She's big, but then men like big women, don't 
they, aunt? 

Mrs. R. (l.) Ah, some on 'em goes in for quantity, 
and some on 'em goes in for quality. The little ones, 
they go in for size cause they bean't much of it them- 
selves; and the big ones goes in for sense, cause that 
be what they be most in need of. {Goes R.) And Allen, 
he he's medium, so he can just please himself. 

Deb. And there's Miss Dexter, that he drives over to 
Minehead so often. (Mrs. Rollitt goes l.) He thinks 
a lot of her, I know. 



12 WOODBARROW FARM 

Mrs. R. (l.) What, Colonel Dexter's darter, oop at 
Lucott's Hill? Oh, yes, herd be a fine un to rnake the 
butter and cure the hams, her would. Her be loike them 
umbrellas they be a selling at Peter's for is. i id.— only 
meant to be walked out wi'. {Near press L.) 

Deb. Ah, but she's so beautiful, aunt, and she's a 
lady! (Sighs.) 

Mrs. R. Ah! (goes to table R. c.) there be a good 
many sorts o' them. 

Deb. She is a lady, isn't she, aunt? 

Mrs. R. Her's got the clothes all right. (Sits L. of 
table R. A pause— goes up and pats Deborah's cheek.) 
As if thee didn't know the lad were in love with thee- 
self. 

Deb. (Tossing her head.) Sure an' I don't see how 
I should — he never says anything. 

Mrs. R. Ah, the men bain't much to say for their- 
selves, poor things. Thee must go by what they does. Why, 
thee uncle kept company wi' me for three years, an' un 
never said a word. The first year un only sot and stared, 
and the second year un put un's arm round my waist, and 
the third year un kissed me, and then mother said it were 
time to put up the banns, and her done it. 

Deb. (Laughs.) Ah, the man that wants to marry me 
will have to ask me ever and ever so many times and 
plead, oh, as if his life depended on it (tossing her head — 
at Are.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, the lad be shy, that be all. He be fright- 
ened 'o thee. 

Deb. (Smiling.) Of me, aunt? 

Mrs. R. Ah, sure! — (Laughs.) — I expect un be wor- 
rying hisself finely for fear thee doan't care for un, a 
fancying thee prefers Jim Harkabuck, maybe. 

Deb. (Demurely — goes up r. and gets l. of Mrs. Rol- 
LITT.) Jim Harkabuck is a very nice fellow, and he does 
stare. (Smiling, and going to her aunt.) Do you 
think Allen really — really does — Aunt? (Kneels to Mrs. 
RoLLiTT, who turns her head azvay r. a little.) 

Mrs. R. (Laughing, and shaking her off playfully. 
Pauses.) Does he! Why beant he alius quarreling wi' 
thee, and doan't he eat twice as much o' anything if he 
knows thee cooked it — and besides — (Pauses and becomes 
absorbed in stockings.) 

Deb. Besides what, aunt? 

Mrs. R. Why didn't I find un only the evening afore 
last when un didn't know I wur there. (Laughing.) 
A— 



WOODBARROW FARM 13 

(Enter Rachael l. door with Ush in frying-pan. — Deb- 
orah rises.) 

Rach. {Crossing r. and giving it to Deborah.) Shall 
I put it on, Miss? 

Deb. (c. goes R. to fireplace.) No, I'll see to it; 
Rachael, thank you. 

Rack. I have put some butter in the pan. Miss. 

{Exit Rachael l. down stage.) 

Deb. Yes, aunt. (r. of table and seeing to Ush with hack 
to Mrs. Rollitt.) You — you were saying how you came 
upon Allen the other evening, aunt, when he didn't know 
you were there, and he was doing something. 

Mrs. R. Ah, yes, it wur Toosday, and he — not in love 
wi' 'ee — {laughing) — why — {taking up stocking and look- 
ing at hole.) Ah, look at that now, blest if I can make 
out where the holes come from, just. 

Deb. What was he doing, aunt? 

Mrs. R. Why there un wur wi' your — 

{Enter Purtwee c. — who coughs.) 

Mrs. R. {Turning, and seeing him as he stands in 
doorway.) What, Mr. Purtwee! (Deborah in despair 
goes to fire and cooks fish.) Well, 'ee do surprise me! 
'Ee be quite a stranger. Come in. Thee be just in time 
for a bit of sup. 

Mr. p. {Coming down L. c, puts hat on staircase rail.) 
I couldn't pass the place without looking in, I've just 
left the trap outside. {Shakes hands.) And how are 
we? 

Mrs. R. Oh, I be middlin' well, thank 'ee, and how's 
yerself ? 

Mr. p. Oh, nicely enough, and — {To Deborah cross- 
ing R.) — how's Miss Deborah Deacon? 

Deb. Very well, thank you, Mr. Purtwee. 

Mr. p. That's all right — you look it, my dear {Tak- 
ing her hands.) Why I declare she's getting quite a 
woman ! 

Mrs. R. Ah ! she's been that for some time. Her be 
thinking more about getting a man now. (Purtwee 
crosses to l. c. laughing.) 

Deb. Oh, aunt! 

Mrs. R. Did 'ee see the lad up town? 

Mr. p. What. Allen? 

Mrs. R. Ah, that be the only lad in the world I know. 
Did 'ee see un? {Goes up l.) 

Mr. p. Yes, I met him, and I wanted to have a chat 



14 WOODBARROW FARM 

with him. (Mrs. Rollitt is up L. near linen press.) But, 
Lord! There he was off to Lucott's Hill, and there was 
no holding him. (Taking off his coat.) 

Deb. {IV ho has been engaged in her cooking, at this 
suddenly stops, and looks up.) What was he going up 
there for? 

Mr. p. (Stopping and facing round.) What for? 

Deb. (Excitedly, but quietly.) Who was he going to 
see up there? 

Mr. p. (Laughing and folding coat.) Ah! who is it 
he always goes to see up there? 

(Deborah turns a little sick at this confirmation of her 
fears. Purtwee, zvho is a sharp old fcllozv, notices the 
expression of her face and the whole truth Hashes across 
him. He pauses suddenly, looks hard at her, then as- 
suming an ordinary laughing tone, continues — Mrs. 
Rollitt (up L.) is engaged with the linen, and does not 
notice this.) 

Mr. p. Why, the Walleys, of course. He and Jim 
seem to be inseparable of late. 

Deb. Oh, yes, I know. I asked him to try and see if 
the Walleys would part with one of their short-horns. 

Mr. p. Ah! that was it, then — yes, I remember that 
was it. (Turns azvay and looks back at Deborah, tvho 
has resumed her cooking — aside.) Poor child! There's 
trouble for her I fear. (Throws coat over chair l.) 

Mrs. R. (Comes c.) Well, what be going on up at 
Minehead? 

Mr. p. The same that is going on everywhere, Mrs. 
Rollitt — people lying and slandering and evil-speaking; 
everybody thieving and cheating and quarreling. (Sits 
on table l.) 

Mrs. R. Well, I guess I could have told thee that. 
Haven't thee any real news to gie us. Tell us what one 
person's be a-doing. Never mind " everybody," I don't 
know him. 

Mr. p. Well, you see, Susan, a lawyer mustn't gos- 
sip. (Shakes finger.) 

(Deborah crosses to linen press u, sets tablecloth and lays 
table R. c. for meal.) 

Mrs. R. (c.) Oh, hoity, toity! What be the use of 
"being a lawyer and knowing things if 'ee never tells a 
Taody a bit o' news? And now I come to think of it, 
I've got a bone to pick wi' thee about that very thing. 
Thee never told me old Hanningford wur agoing to die 



WOODBARROW FARM 15 

without leaving my boy so much as a brass farthing. 
Do you think as how I'd 'a' gone on sending the old skin- 
flint the best turkey in the yard every Christmas, and the 
best goose come every Michaelmas, if I'd known as how 
he'd hadn't given us so much as the price as a suit o' 
black, and Allen his own cousin's child. (Crossing r.) 
A cousin is a cousin, even if it be a distant one. (Sits L. 
of table R.) 

Mr. p. Now, my dear Mrs. RoUitt, how could I tell 
he was going to die? 

Mrs. R. Thee knowed he wur going to die sometime, 
and thee knowed he hadn't left the boy anything, and 
thee might a' dropped me a hint. "Mrs. Rollitt," thee 
might ha' said, "thee's only wasting good poultry on a 
worthless man. The old sinner's a going to die as hard- 
fisted and ungrateful as he's lived." It would 'a' been a 
neighbourly act o' thee! 

Mr. p. (Laughing.) But I didn't know he wasn't go- 
ing to leave you anything. You see he died intestate. 

Mrs. R. In what? 

Mr. p. (Rises.) Intestate. (Deborah laughs a lit- 
tle.) Without leaving a will; he left nobody anything. 

Mrs. R. (Rising.) Well, then, where does the old 
fool's money go to? 

Mr. p. Why, to his son, of course! (Cross to E. near 
chair, fireplace down stage.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, where be his son? 

Mr. p. (Folding his knee in his hand and looking at 
her quietly.) On the road from Texas to Devon. 
(Sits R.) 

Mrs. R. What! Thee don't mean to say thee've 
found un! (Deborah gets dish off dresser r. and puts it 
down in front of tire,, Mrs. R. in front of table R., Mrs. R. 
and Deborah draw near interested.) 

Mr. p. That's just exactly what I do mean. We 
traced him at last — found him at Port Chadbourne black 
as a nigger and dressed as a red Indian. 

Mrs. R. What was he doing there — play-acting? 

Mr. p. No, cow-boy. (Mrs. R. sits l. of table R.) 

Mrs. R. Lord love us all! and do un know? 
_Mr. p. Yes, my agent saw him — went down to meet 
him as he came through with a drove of cattle, gave him 
my letters and told him everything. 

Mrs. R. Has he written to you? 

Mr. p. No, didn't know how to write — a sort of half 
savage he seems to be, he and all his companions. He 
said he was going to give the boys a three days' drink, or 



i6 WOODBARROW FARM 

as he expressed it, "paint the town red," and then start 
straight for home. 

Mrs. R. When do you expect him? 

Mr. p. Any day now; it was six weeks ago my agent 
saw him. He might walk into my office to-morrow 
morning. 

Mrs. R. Lor ! to think o' it all. Him running away — 
driven away, as a body might say, by 'is own father, when 
scarce more than a baby, and now coming back to all this 
money. When do 'ee expect un? 

Mr. p. To-morrow — in six months time — never! 

Mrs. R. Never! (Purtwee rises, crosses to i..) 

Mr. p. Perhaps never. 

Mrs. R. Why I thought thee said he'd started. 

Mr. p. Started, yes ; but there's a long road between 
that and arriving. He may be dead and buried — 
drowned — murdered — for all we can tell. They're a rough 
lot where he's coming from. (Takes coat off settle L. 
Feels for snuff box in pockets; rises; goes c.) 

Mrs. R. Well, thee's picturing a nice fate for the lad. 
An' who would the money all go to if he were gone? 

Mr. p. Why the next o' kin of course! He isn't 
married. 

Mrs. R. And who be the next of kin? 

Mr. p. (Dryly.) Oh! there's no need to worry about 
that now. 

Mrs R. Well, I'd just like to know, that's all. 
Would it be any of the Leeds folk? 

Mr. p. Oh, I really can't say! (Gets snuff box, puts 
coat on settle l.) I — I can't say at all who it would be. 
(Angrily, rather.) Why there's about a hundred different 
relations scattered all over the country, and goodness 
knows who it might turn out to be. It isn't a matter to 
be considered yet at all. 

Mrs. R. Lord bless us all, don't put theeself out, man. 
I didn't know as a body's relations wur any secret — 
(pauses) — provided they be coom by honestly. Doan't 
tell us if 'ee doan't. want to. (Turns away r. a little.) 

Mr. p. No— no, Mrs. Rollitt! I'm not put out, only 
you see it's always a most complicated question a next 
of kin, especially in a case of this kind where the man 
shunned all his relations. It might be someone in Hong 
Kong; it might be someone here in Devonshire — (Enter 
Allen c. door.) — it might be, — (he is h., taking handker- 
chief from his overcoat pocket, and turning sees Allen 
in doorway and stops. Deborah puts on the fish.) 

Allen. (Coming dozvn R. c.) Well mother! (Kisses her.) 



WOODBARROW FARM 17 

Mrs. R. Why, my boy, wherever ha' ye been to — I wur 
getting quite anxious about 'ee! 

Allen. {Taking off his hat and coat and throwing 
them dozvn at back.) Ah, I be a rare anxiety to 'ee, 
baint I, mother? (To Mr. Purtwee.) Mother alius 
fancies as I've been run off with by gypsies if I be out 
more than an hour. (Crossing and shaking hands with 
Mr. Purtwee.) And how be Mr. Purtwee for the second 
time to-day? 

Mr. P. (Laughing and shaking hands.) Ah! your 
mother's a regular old hen with one chick I expect. 
(Sits L.) 

Allen. Never thee mind, mother, thee be quite right 
to be careful o' me ! There baint another son like me in 
the whole country, be there? 

Deb. (At fire.) To the credit of old Devon be it 
said. 

Allen. Halloa! (Goes R. to Deborah.) 

Mrs. R. Ah! now that just serves thee right for 
laughing at thee old mother. (Crosses L. and sits knit- 
ting next to Purtwee.) 

Allen. Ah! that be the worst of letting the children 
stop oop arter their proper toime, they alius gets so 
saucy. What have thee there? Lurd bust me, I have 
got a vacuum inside o' me. Poached eggs? 

Deb. No; poached trout. 

Mr. p. Eh! what's that? 

Allen. Hulloa! Thee've done it now. Why, Mr. 
Purtwee be Lord Netherby's lawyer, and he'll ha' thee 
hanged in chains on Dunkery Beacon, sure as fate. 

Deb. Ah, well, you see I didn't poach him, I'm only 
frying him. There's no law against frying fish, is there? 

Allen, (r.c.) Aye, well, us'U forgi'e thee this time, if 
ee'll promise to do it again soon. Come and gi'e us a kiss. 

Deb. Thee'll kiss the frying-pan if you come any o' 
your nonsense round here. 

Allen. What! won't thee, when I tell 'ee I've bought 
Jim Whalley's tan and cream shorthorn for 'ee? 

Deb. (Pleased.) No! Have you? 

Allen. I bought her this afternoon, and I got her 
for— (l.c, turning to his mother) I say, mother, our 
Deb's bin and smoshed young Whalley. 

Mrs. R. Done what to un. 

Allen. Smoshed him. 

Deb. Why, I never touched him. 

Allen. Yes thee have, thee've smoshed un— that be 
the new Lunnun word; made un in love wi' thee. 



i8 WOODBARROW FARM 

Mrs. R. It's a funny way o' doing it. 

Allen. I doan't know how her done it, but her done it. 
Why he wanted £25 for the cow at first, and when I told 
un her wur for Deb he looked as stupid as an old cow 
unself and said I could have her for £20, and then he 
asked me if she would like a calf. (Goes r.) 

Deb. We could do with one. What did you say? 

Allen. (Laughing.) I told un her'd better let the 
calf come down and ask for unself. (Laughs boister- 
ously.) He never saw what I meant. (All laugh.) 

Deb. Oh, I expect he saw it all right. Jim Whalley is 
a very sharp fellow; there was no need to insult him just 
because he'd done a kind action. (Warmly — turns away 
R. a little.) 

Allen. Oh, 1 wouldn't ha' said it if I'd known. I 
didn't know thee was in love wi' him. 

Deb. (Half laughing and half indignant.) Oh, don't 
be silly, Allen, as if I cared for Jim Whalley. 

Allen. I might ha' guessed it too. Why, I expect 
that's why thee wanted the cow so as to have something 
about the place to remind thee o' un. 

Deb. Oh, you great stupid ! 

Allen. Why, look how you're blushing. Look, look 
at her face, mother. (Goes to back of settle R. takes up 
looking-glass which is hanging on settle R., brings it down 
and holds it before her.) Look at yourself! (she catches 
him a sound box on the ear. He puts his hand to his face, 
and crossing puts back glass.) I didn't know thee was so 
strong. That all comes of those squab pies o' yourn, 
mother, I told thee thee wur putting too much meat in 'em. 

Mrs. R. (Laughing.) Ah, it's thy sauce lad, not my 
meat, that's done it. (Rises.) Thee'd better try and 
make thy peace, while me and Mr. Purtwee has a look 
round the out-buildings. (To Mr. Purtwee) I've been 
wanting to get hold of thee for a long time. Thee's never 
gi'en us so much as a bit o' paint for the last ten years, 
and the stable roof won't bear an owl on it. (Goes up c. 
•with Purtwee.) 

Allen, (r. near settle.) Thee might show Mr. Purt- 
wee the barn floor while thee's about it, mother. It be 
more like an earthquake than a floor. 

Mrs. R. Oh, I be a going to show him more than he 
wants to see, don't thee worrit. (Aside to Mr. Purtwee 
at door c.) Ah, they'd make a pretty couple, wouldn't 
they? 

Mr. P. (Looking at them.) No, no, we must make 
'em one. 



WOODBARROW FARM 19 

(Exit Mrs. Rollitt and Mr. Purtwee c. door.) 

Allen. (After a pause, r.c.) Well I've got thee the 
cow, anyhow, and it's a beauty. 

Deb. (At fire in a tone of severe and offended dignity.) 
Thank you, Mr. Rollitt, it is very kind of you. 

Allen. (After a pause, with exaggerated politeness.) 
Don't mention it. Miss Deacon — quite a pleasure ! 
(Allen crosses to l., whistles — a pause — pretends to take 

off leggings. Puts foot on settle.) 

Deb. Thee may bring me over the butter. 

Allen. (Looking up.) Hulloa ! come back again! 
Butter, certainly! (Takes it from chair off l. on stair- 
case, crosses with it, and holds it for Deborah while she 
takes some.) Jolly good butter this week; who made it? 
Thee? 

Deb. (Other side of plate.) Of course I did! I make 
all the butter now, and the cream. 

Allen. What, wi' them little hands. They don't look 
big enough to do anything but be kissed. 

Deb. (Looking up and smiling.) They can do some- 
thing else, can't they? 

Allen. Ah ! They be like the parson's, not as soft as 
they looks. (Puts down butter on the table — pause — ■ 
during which Deborah proceeds with her cooking, and 
Allen stands zvatching her.) What a jolly little farmer's 
wife thee'd make. 

Deb. Yes; I only want the jolly little farmer. 

Allen. Ah, thee won't find many of that sort about. 
Farming don't pay enough for a man to get jolly on, now- 
a-days. 

Deb. Oh, we have enough to eat and drink, and a little 
to spend on foolishness. You want so much. 

Allen. {Goes l.) Not more than what a many has. 
Not more than a little bit of what this young Hanning- 
ford is coming back to — enough to let a man see what the 
world's like a bit, instead of being cooped oop all one's 
life, like an old cow, in one corner of it. 

Deb. But you can't live all over it, and one corner must 
be much as good as another. 

Allen. (Crosses R.) Ah, thee don't understand it, 
lass. Thee women folk can stand day arter day t'ne same, 
but we lads are restless wi' it. We feel as there's summat 
big and stirring going on somewhere, and we long to be 
among it — to be in the great world. It seems to call to 
me — (puts foot on settle L.) — to come to it, sometimes. I 
hear it of a night when I'm watching the sheep on the 



20 WOODBARROW FARM 

hill fields. Maj'be it's only the sea breaking on the rocks 
down by Glenthorn — or the wind among the old oaks, but 
it sounds like a distant far-oiT voice — (gets L. of table R. 
with back to Deborah) — calling to me, and it rings and 
echoes in my ears, till I feel at times that I must start up 
then and there and follow it. (Deborah r. of table R. 
Allen l. of table r.) 

Deb. (Very gravely, laying her hand on his arm.) 
Allen, lad, don't you remember reading one evening to us 
of the sirens, who in the old days used to haunt the sea 
caves, and sing so sweetly that the sailors who once paused 
to listen, were lured on and on till they were wrecked 
among the cruel rocks? May not the voices that you hear 
be like the singing of those sirens? 

Allen. Maybe, lass ; but the sailors couldn't help but 
follow when they did hear it. (Sits in chair l. of table R.) 

Deb. (After a pause.) What be the matter, Allen? 
Thee used to be contented enough. Now thee's always 
talking about riches, and wanting to go away from the 
dear old farm. Somethin's come over thee, lad. (Puts 
hand on Allen's shoulder.) 

Allen. No, I wur alius like an old crow — (Deborah 
takes her hand aivay) — sitting on a fence, and looking at 
summat too far off to see. But thee be right partly, 
lass. Summat has come over me, and made me want 
what I can't get more than ever now. 

Deb. (Very kindly, R.) What be it? (With elbows 
leaning on table, R.) 

Allen. (Rises, goes L. c.) Well, I be in love, lass. 
(5"//// looking away from her.) 

Deb. (After a pause, during which she has smiled to 
herself with a happy little sigh, and clasped her hands 
together in a sort of little joyful ecstacy, unnoticed by 
Allen.) In love! 

Allen. I fancy it must be that. I think of her all day 
and I dream of her all night, and I'm jolly miserable. 
(At settle, R.) 

Deb. (Demurely.) Have you any reason to suppose 
that she returns your affection? 

Allen. I don't know, her's never said anything. 

Deb. Have you? 

Allen. Me! No, I haven't said anything. 

Deb. Most extraordinary that she doesn't propose. 
Have you given her any encouragement? (Leans against 
settle R.) 

Allen. Noa — I can't say as I have, much. (Goes R.c.) 
I've looked at her, you know — soft like — and sighed. 
(Does so.) But her's mostly been looking t'other way and 



WOODBARROW FARM 21 

an't seen it, and as for saying anything to her — well, I can 
talk to her all right about other things and joke and laugh 
wi' her, but the moment I goes to say I love her — it — it 
seems as if I'd got a hot potato stuck in my throat. 
(Speakiyig as if she had, turns aimy to l. corner 0/ R. table, 
back to Deborah. His manner throughout this scene 
carries out the idea that it is Deborah he is in love with.) 

Deb. (After a pause, with a coquettish smile to herself.) 
I — I can't do anything to help thee, I suppose? (Goes and 
leans against settle r.) 

Allen. Do thee think as her could care for a mere 
common farmer, Deborah? 

Deb. (Turning and looking at him earnestly — comes 
io front of table R.) Well — I think if he were a good 
farmer, and pleaded very hard, I — 

Allen. (Delighted.) No, lass! Do 'ee really think a 
girl could? (Advancing to her.) 

Deb. (Putting her hand to stop him with dignity.) A 
girl might — though, of course, a superior sort of girl, such 
as she appears to be, might think it presumption for — 
{^turns away R. puts hand on corner of table R.) 

Allen. (Depressed.) Yes — I'm afraid her would. 
{Turns away l.) 

Deb. (Eagerly turning around again.) Then, of 
course, she mightn't. You never can tell till you try. 
(Goes to fireplace R. Fish is changed.) 

Allen. (Scratching his head.) Blest if I know how- 
to go about it! I say, Deb, you've been proposed to, how 
do they begin? 

Deb. (Bending over fire.) Don't thee think thee'd 
better tell me who it is and let me ask her for thee? 
(Looking slyly round, pauses.) Who be her, Allen? 

Allen. (Going up to window R.c.) Ah, I expect thee 
knows who her be ! 

Deb. (Beginning softly to creep toward him.) How 
should I when thee's never told me? What be her name? 
{Close to him, his back is still towards her and he doesn't 
see her.) Eh? 

Allen. (Without turning, looking out of the back 
window up R.c.) Clara. (Music cue.) 

(Bus. Deb. stands still — for the first moment she hardly 
comprehends. Then she understands, and stands staring 
straight before her zvith a zvild scared look — shivers, crosses 
back to fireplace on tip-toe and bends down over it attend- 
ing to the fish — after Deb. sobs Allen comes down c. — 
music dies away.) 

Allen. (Half turning round.) Colonel Dexter's 
daughter, you know. Thee've seen her. Her wur at the 



22 WOODBARROW FARM 

Barnstaple ball and I danced wi' her and thee said how 
beautiful her wur and that her dress was all made o' 
some'at or other, and you — {he has gradually come close 
over to her r.) What be the matter, Deb? 

Deb. {In a changed, hard tone, bending more intently 
than ever over her cooking.) Nothing — Nothing. 

Allen. {Taking her hand.) Why, thee be quite cold, 
lass; be thee ill? 

Deb. {Snatching her hand away.) No, no, there's 
nothing the matter with me. Don't be so foolish, don't 
don't. 

Allen. {Surprised.) I say, Deb, have I said anything 
I oughtn't to? I know I'm alius a-doing it. {A pause — 
Allen stands looking at her, troubled and bewildered — 
Deb. bends closer over the fire — then takes the pan off the 
■fire and with it in her hand turns to Allen smiling.) 

Deb. {Gives dish to Allen.) Yes, thee have— talking 
to a cook at the very moment the trout is on the turn. 
{Puts trout on dish.) Serve thee right if I'd spoilt it. 

Allen. Lor', thee quite frightened me! {Pauses.) 
Yes — I went up there this afternoon. (Deb. takes dish 
from Allen, puts it down in front of -fireplace.) 

Deb. {Arranging fish.) Did you see her? 

Allen. Yes, I saw her. 

Deb. It doesn't seem to have made thee any more 
cheerful. Did thee quarrel. 

Allen. Us never got a chance. There wur a cousin 
or summat of the kind hanging about all the time — just 
come over with some chap from America. Can't say as I 
like un much. 

Deb. Thee'd best summon up thy courage and speak 
quick or thee may lose thy turn. (Allen turns azvay l.) 
Go and tell aunt supper's ready — be quick, it's all spoiling. 

Allen. {Moving quickly towards door L. down stage.) 
"Where shall I find her? 

Deb. {Sharply.) How should I know? 

Allen. {Looks around surprised — sotto voce.) How 
the fire do draw out a woman's temper, to be sure. 
{E.vit Allen l., dozvn stage.) 

Deb. {Left alone stands R. a moment zvifhout speak- 
ing.) What right has she to come down here and take 
him away? She doesn't love him. Couldn't she have 
found enough fine gentlemen in London to amuse her? 
I don't believe she's a good woman, and I hate her. 
(Stamps her foot.) She shan't have him — she— {bursts 
into quiet tears and, slipping dozvn on ground, buries her 
face in chair by fire — pause — after a few seconds Luke 



WOODBARROW FARM 23 

Cranbourne appears in door c. from R., Mike Stratton 
behind him. Luke pauses on threshold and coughs. Deb. 
hastily rises, trying to hide her tears and stands R. Luke 
comes forward slowly, followed by Mike at some 
distance.) 

Luke. (After pause, coming forward R.c.) I — beg 
pardon — there was nobody about. Are Mrs. RoUitt and 
Mr. Rollitt at home? 

Deb. Yes, they are at home. I will go and find them. 
(Crosses to l.) Who shall I say it is? 

Luke, (r.c.) Ah, thank you very much, my dear. 
Would you say Mr. Cranbourne — Mr. Luke Cranbourne 
and Mr. Richard Hanningford? 

Deb. {Ama:;ed.) Dick Hanningford! 

Luke. (Smiling.) You know the name? 

Deb. Old Mr. Hanningford's son? Why, we were 
only speaking of him just this instant, and wondering 
when he'd come back. (To Luke hesitatingly.) Are — 
are you — 

Luke. No — this is Mr. Hanningford. (Turns to 
Mike, who stands awkward and shy L.c. looking at the 
ground.) Did you know him? (Laughs.) 

Deb. Oh, I'm Miss Deacon — Miss Deborah Deacon. 
We were school-fellows, you know. (Timidly approach- 
ing Mike with outstretched hand.) I am very glad to 
see you Mr. — Mr. Hanningford. 

Mike. Thank you, Miss — I'm very pleased to see you. 

Luke. (Sitting e.) I suppose you hardly recognize 
our friend? (Watches her intently without her noticing 
it. Mike has turned away again, and looks down, flicking 
leg with cane.) 

Deb. (Hesitating.) Um! (Laughs.) Well, he's cer- 
tainly altered since we used to go to school together. 
But yes — (examining his face)— there's something of the 
old face left, I think. 

Luke. We only arrived from America last night, 
traveling hard all the time. Pretty nearly worked me 
to death. Dick has— (ivith a yawn)— hut there, I suppose 
I should have hurried up pretty smart myself if I'd been 
coming home to a fortune. 

Deb. You are staying in the village then, I suppose? 

Luke. Yes, we've put up at Colonel Dexter's — my 
uncle's — slow place. (Laughing.) But better than the 
inn apparently. 

Deb. Oh. then you are the — Miss Dexter's cousin that 
Allen — (pauses hesitating) — was — was speaking of? 

Luke. Oh, the young fellow that was there this after- 



24 WOODBARROW FARM 

noon— was that Allen? (PVith a would-be playful laugh.) 
And who's Allen, eh? 

Deb. (A little stiMy.) Allen is Mr. RolHtt. 

Luke. Oh, I wish I'd known that this afternoon. 
Dick's been dying to see him and his mother all day. I 
wanted him to wait till the morning, but he would come 
down to-night. 

Deb. Oh, I'm sure Allen and Aunt will both be 
delighted. (Approaching Mike, ivho still stands aside and 
looks dozvn.) Won't you be seated, Mr. Hanningford? 
{He makes no sign — hesitatingly.) Dick. (Mike still 
takes no notice. Luke has risen and crossed with assumed 
carelessness, towards him and nozv from opposite side of 
him to Deborah gives him a sharp kick. Mike starts and 
looks up.) 

Luke. (Turning away carelessly.) Lost in reveries of 
old scenes, Dick, eh? Miss Deacon is asking you if you 
won't sit down. 

Mike. (Sitting l.c.) Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm 
sure. Oh, thank you, I will. 

Deb. (Going.) I shan't be a minute. They are only 
somewhere about the yard. 
(Exit Deborah c. door l. down stage. Luke goes to door 

L., looks off, closes door, then goes up to door c, looks 

off, then closes it. Comes r. of Mike, who is l.c.) 

Luke. (After waiting an instant, and making sure thai 
no one is about.) Try and keep some of your wits about 
you, Mike — if you don't mind. 

Mike. (Sulkily.) I don't see the darned good of this 
part of the trick, so I tell you. 

Luke. I'm afraid we shall have a rough time if your 
memory doesn't improve. I've explained to you at least 
half-a-dozen times that it was as a sort of trial canter that 
I wanted to come here. If anyone in Devon can tell who 
is Dick Hanningford and who isn't it will be these Rollitts. 
If you pass here you pass anywhere. 

Mike. Well, it's the very place T should have avoided, 
and for the same reason. The old woman knew Dick 
Hanningford as well as she knows her own son, and I'd 
rather avoid her. 

Luke, (r.) You're bound to meet her sooner or later. 
Better get it over and know the worst — or the best. 
(Turns azvay R. a little.) Sixteen years make it a little 
difficult to tell a man, especially between the age of nine 
and twenty-five, and you're like him enough, and always 
were. 

Mike. And suppose she gets asking questions — do I 



WOODBARROW FARM 25 

Temember this, do I remember that — you know what old 
women are. 

Luke. Well, you can't be expected to remember all 
the details of your pinafore days after all this time, and 
knocking about as you have been. You know all that is 
necessary for you to know. You knew the old man, and 
you were in the house, and you knew young Hanningford. 
Besides, you needn't recollect anything yourself. You 
recollect what other people recollect, that's all you're 
wanted to do. 

Mike. (Rising.) I hope we don't make a mess of it! 
(Turns L.) 

Luke. (^Crossing and laying his hand on Mike's 
shoulder, turns him to c.) We shan't make a mess of it — 
don't you. You know what it's for — £100,000 apiece. I've 
done my share of the job — you do yours. (Turns R. a 
little.) 

Mike. (Turning round and facing him.) Are you sure 
you did your share? 

Luke, (l.) What do you mean? (Turns c.) 

Mike, (r.) Are you sure he was dead? 

Luke. (After pausing, during which they have looked 
steadily at each other, turning away l.) Well, the bullet 
went in above his ear, because I examined the wound : 
and his body went over a two hundred-foot precipice — 
that I could also take an affidavit to — only I'd rather not. 
(Turning round and facing Mike again.) What makes 
you doubt it? 

Mike. I don't know — nothing. The idea occurred to 
me, that's all. (Turns L. a little.) 

Luke. Don't you drink so much and you won't have 
so many ideas. (After a pause, during which he seems 
troubled, shaking it off with an effort.) Have you got 
the letters with you? It will look well to take them out 
casually while talkhig. (Crosses R.; sits on table.) 

Mike. (Who has crossed to L., taking them out of his 
breast pocket and holding them in his hand.) Yes, here 
they are all ria^ht. Bah! (With a shudder.) I always 
see his face when I look on the darned things — I — 

Mrs. R. (Without, loudly.) Dick Hanningford— Dick 
Hanningford, my boy! (Mike drops suddenly in sitting 
posture on sofa L. with a cry "Ah." Luke works round 
at back and drops down l.) 
(Enter Mrs. R., e.rcitedly, followed at little distance by 

Allen and Deborah from c. Allen and Deborah 

remain up. Rachel from door down l.) 

Mrs. R. (Coming down towards Mike.) What, Dick, 



26 WOODBARROW FARM 

my boy, where be thee? (Sees Mike on sofa: making 
towards him.) Ah, there thee be— I thought I'd know 
thee again though thee wur only in knickerbockers when 
I last saw 'ee. Tain't thy fault thy father wur a bit 
stingy. Come and gie us a hug, lad. Lord love us — (she 
is just in font of htm, begins to speak in a bewildered, 
hesitating manner, in tones gradually dying away to an 
aived whisper, as she slowly step by step backs from him.) 
How — how you've grown — Dick — Dick Hanningford — 
what — (stands staring at him; a strange awed silence 
prevails). 

Deb. (Advancing in a terrified voice.) Aunt. 

Mrs. R. (Motioning her back with her arm, but not 
turning and speaking in a quick, excited, loud tone.) Keep 
back, child, don't come near. (Luke is near Mike 
down c.) 

Allen. (Springing forward.) Mother! What's the 
matter ? 

Mrs. R. (As before.) The man's dead. 

Luke. (r. stepping forward.) Dead! 

Mr. p. (Who has entered c. folloived by Ichabod and 
Rachel l. He goes quietly up to Mike and lays his hand 
on his heart, and bends over him earnestly, and it is a few 
seconds before he speaks.) Heart disease, I suppose. (At 
back of settee l. Gets r.c. of settle.) My letter in his 
hand. (Gets to back of settle.) It's an ill wind that blows 
nobody any good. (Turns and feels Mike's heart once 
again, then quietly turns azvay to Allen. Comes c.) He 
stood between you and £200,000. You are now old Han- 
ningford's heir ! 

Allen. I ! 
.' Mrs. R. Allen! 

Luke. (To corpse of Mike — aside as he crosses to 
hack.) Curse you! 



Medium Curtain. 



ACT II. 

Scene: Morning room in a handsome Hat—a showily 
furnished room — rather ostentatious and loud in 
its decoration and appointments. Large table 
in bay window R. upper corner. Fire-place R. 
Doors at back l.c. and two in l. zving. Small 
tables R. and l. . Easy chairs l. and R. 

Breakfast is laid on large table — it is a 
gorgeously laid meal — silver and plate in pro- 
fusion, and a great number of dishes — tea urn 
and coffee urn — a boiling kettle — flowers and 
ferns in vases and stands. One, a large wavy 
one, is at left edge of table close to Allen. The 
table in short is crowded and showy to the last 
degree. A magniUcent footman in gorgeous 
livery is standing behind; and Mr. Piffin in 
solemn black waits close to Allen's chair, a dish 
in his hand. Allen is discovered sitting l. of 
table, and eating his breakfast in a most 
melancholy fashion. He looks intensely miser- 
able and awed. The terrible solemnity of the 
whole affair has depressed his spirits to their 
lowest ebb. He glances nervously now and then 
as the meal proceeds, from the footman to the 
valet, and vice versa, as they silently and with 
much ceremony walk about and zvait on him. 
The fern by his side keeps getting in his way, 
tickling and irritating him, but he dare not move 
it. He eats in silence, and when he docs speak, 
does so in a humble, deprecating, nervous man- 
ner. He is dressed in a loose morning costume. 
Music to open Act. 

PiFF. (Standing by Allen's l. elbow c. Peters r. of 
table R.) May I get you a little pate de foie gras, sir? 

Allen. (Looking round, and speaking in a hushed 
voice.) I beg pardon? 

27 



28 WOODBARROW FARM 

PiFF. A little pate de foie gras, sir. 

Allen, Patty who? 

PiFF. Goose's liver, sir. I think you will like it. 

Allen. No, thanks; I never eats liver. It don"t agree 
with me. I will have a bit o' the bacon though. 

PiFF. No, sir; it is not dressed that way, sir. I would 
get used to it if I were you, sir. You will so often come 
across it. Peters, just pass your master the pate de foie 
gras. 

(Peters goes to do so. Allen who has turned again 
tozi'ards his breakfast is about to take up some gravy from 
his plate with his knife). 

PiFF. (Checks him.) I wouldn't lap up the gravy with 
my knife, sir< I don't think. It's never done now in good 
society, sir. 

Allen. It — it's the best part of it, you know, I alius 
thinks — the gravy 

PiFF. Yes, it's very tasty, sir. It's unfortunate it's so 
sloppy; and you see, sir, eating it in that way does not 
show off the figure to advantage. Peters, remove your 
master's plate. 

(Peters does so, placing it a few feet beyond Allen's 
left hand. Allen watches it zvith jealous eyes. Peters then 
holds the pate de foie gras to Allen. He slowly runs his 
eye up Peters with aive, and then looks at the pate de foie 
gras, then using one hand attempts to take it. Peters, not 
moving a muscle, holds it tight. Allen seems surprised, 
and partly rising, attempts to take it with both liands.) 
_ PiFF. {Coming to his rescue, cutting a piece, and put- 
ting it on his plate.) Allow me, sir. Peters, the brown 
bread and butter. 

Pet. (Looking for it.) It is not on the table, sir. 

PiFF. No brown bread and butter ; dear me, how remiss ! 

(Crosses l. and rings bell. Peters also crosses L.c. door^ 
Allen looks cautiously round and sees they are not watch- 
ing him, and stealthily reaches over and secures a knifeful 
of gravy. He is about having a second and has the knife 
close to his mouth, zvhen he becomes aware that Piff. has 
returned and is watching him. He tries to hide the knife 
out of sight, Peters lias returned with bread and butter.) 

Piff. (Severely.) Peters, remove your master's knife. 
Don't you see that it is in his way? 

(Peters does so, and then holds the bread and butter to 
Allen, who takes a thin slice, folds it up, and holds it in 
Iiis left hand zvhile taking the pate on a fork in his right.. 
He puts first the pate and then the bread and butter into 
his mouth and sivallows them.) 



WOODBARROW FARM 29 

PiFF. I must apologize for serving you your breakfast 
in here, sir. Of course, you will not have it in the draw- 
ing-room as a rule. 

Allen. No, a' coorse not. No; us alius used to have 
it in the kitchen at home. 

PiFF. Yes, sir. Must have been very convenient. But I 
think I'll get you to put up with the breakfast parlour in 
future, sir — when the room's ready. Have you quite 
finished, sir? 

Allen. {Humbly suggesting.) I think I'd like a little 
more o' that pie. {Looking longingly at pie the oilier side 
of table.) You see, I alius wur a hearty eater. {Said as 
apology). 

PiFF. Yes, sir, I'm delighted to hear it, sir; but I 
wouldn't eat any more breakfast, sir. You will find it is 
considered correct among bons vivants to eat a very sparse 
dejeuner. My late lamented master, the Count de Fizziani, 
never partook of anything but a cup of weak tea and a 
little dry toast, and he was one of the oldest families in 
Europe. 

(Allen rises, Peter.s bozvs as he does so, and Allen 
returns the bow and comes dorvn R.) 

Allen. Ah, I shouldn't 'a' thought as anyone could 'a' 
lived long on that. {He bows). 

PiFF. No necessity to bow, sir. 

Allen. He did it. {Indicating Peters). 

PiFF. He's paid for it. 

Allen. I alius seem to want a good feed myself in the 
morning. {Takes out an old clay pipe and prepares to fill 
it. Goes down r. and sits in chair. Peters is clearing 
away the breakfast things). 

PiFF. Are you thinking of smoking, sir? 

Allen. Yes ; I alius has a whiff or two arter breakfast. 

PiFF. It's very soothing, sir. My late lamented master, 
the Count de Fizziani, used to follow precisely the same 
course. But I wouldn't smoke a pipe, sir. Pipes are going 
out in good society. {Takes cigarette case from pocket 
and offers it to Allen. Takes pipe from Allen and puts 
it on corner of table r.c.) I have some cigarettes here, sir, 
which I think you will like, sir. These are much more 
conime il faut, sir. This case is a present from my late 
lamented master, the Count. 

(Allen looks at them and gingerly takes one.) 

Allen. Which end? 

PiFF. {Lighting match.) Either end, sir. Allow me. 
{Showing matchbox.) Another little souvenir from my 
late master. He was always acknowledging, if I may say 



30 WOODBARROW FARM 

so, my value to him. That sort of thing is always done 
in good society now. (Lights cigarette.) It is a full 
flavored one, sir. (Piffin takes Allen's pipe from table 
E.C., crossing with it to window R.) 

Allen. (Watching him, anxiously.) Don't hurt him. 

PiFF. (Turning round.) I was just going to put it 
outside on the window-sill, sir. 

Allen. No, don't put him there. We used to sit up 
together of a night watching the sheep. I don't like the 
thought of putting him outside the window, now I'm a 
gentleman. Drop him in the pocket of that old shooting 
coat o' mine that thee won't let me wear. They know 
each other. (Sits R. and smokes his cigarette. Piff. puts 
tlie pipe on table and returns R.c.) 

Piff. (Noticing that Allen is looking at his cigarette.) 
All right, sir? (r.) 

Allen. Yes—yes, thank you, Mr. Puffin — 

PiFF. Piffin, sir. 

Allen. I wur looking to see if it wur alight, that's all. 

PiFF. You will soon get to like them, sir. And when- 
ever you are ready to dress, sir — 

Allen. (Surprised.) Dress? Why, I be dressed, 
bain't I? 

Piff. Oh, only for breakfast, you see, sir. I under- 
stood you were going out walking, sir. 

Allen. Why can't I walk in these? 

Piff. Oh, no, sir — all London would laugh at j'ou. 

Allen. Lord! I should never a' thought as they'd take 
so much notice. (Rising. Piff. crosses to L. near down 
stage door.) Ah, well, I'll dress. (Crossing L.) I don't 
want to upset London if I can help it. I'll dress. (Exit 
L. Bozvs to Piffin as Piffin does so to him). 

Piff. No necessity to bow, sir. (Aside.) Ah, I've 
got a big job on here! 

(Exit Piffin^ following Allen l. Piffin immediately 
returns, having forgotten the pipe, which he takes. He is 
recrossing u as enter Dexter and Clara, c, preceded by 
Peters, who takes tray from table R.c. and exits up L.) 
And I've got to live in the house with this. 

(Dexter goes c, Clara r. at back.) 

Dex. (Coming dozvn.) Good-morning, Piffin, good- 
morning. Having a quiet whiff? 

Piff. Thank you, sir. My stomach does not permit my 
indulging in the luxury of a cutty pipe. 

Dex. Is Mr. Rollitt about? 

Piff. He has just this minute gone upstairs to dress, 
sir. 1 will let him know you are here, sir. 



WOODBARROW FARM 31 

Dex. No hurry— no hurry at all, Piffin. We are before 
our time. You are not looking well, Piffin. 

PiFF. Anxiety, sir. May be anxiety. You see Mr. 
Rollitt's unacquaintance with the manners of the beaux 
esprits throws much responsibility on myself. 

Dex. But you must be careful, Piffin. What would he 
do without you? 

PiFF. (Smiling.) Well, I'm afraid he would be a little 
up a tree, sir, if I may be permitted a vulgarism. (Moving 
to door L.) I will go and acquaint him with your arrival, 
sir. (Takes plate from table l., puts pipe on it.) I'll send 
him to you directly, sir. (Smells pipe.) Shag! (E.rit l.l.) 

Dex. Thank yon, Mr. Piffin, thank you. (Turning 
round.) Always be affable with your inferiors — never 
know when you may want 'em. 

Clara. (By window, looking out.) Do you come 
across many of that sort? (Comes down r. 0} table R.) 

Dex. Ah, you beast — you vixen. I wonder you don't 
cut yourself with that tongue of yours. 

Clara. (Turning round zvith a hard laugh. At fire- 
place R.) It must be pretty sharp if it goes through your 
skin. 

Dex. Ah, you damned — 
(Enter Allen l. He has on slippers and a smoking coat), 

Allen". (Crossing.) Don't 'ee look at us too closely. 
I bean't properly dressed yet. 

Clara. (r.c. turns head away.) I don't think we had 
better look at you at all under those circumstances, Mr. 
Rollitt. (Laughs.) 

Allen. (Laughs.) Oh, I be covered up all right 
everywhere. I merely meant as I wasn't up to fashion 
plate standard. (Crossing c.) And how be Colonel Dex- 
ter? (Shakaig hands.) 

Dex. (l.) Jolly, my boy — and how's yourself? 

Allen, (c.) Oh, I be spry enough. (Crossing before 
hitn and shaking hands with Clara, and kcping her hand.) 
I think us'll have a pleasant day. 

Clara, (r. looking tenderly at him.) I'm sure we 
shall. {^Crosses to sofa, stands at head of it.) 

Dex. Well, you young folks will, I know, and the old 
folks will be happy looking on. (Sitting, and taking 
Clara's hand in his and fondling it. Allen crosses r.) 
To see his little girl happy, that's always happiness enough 
for old Jack Dexter. 

Clara. (Leaning over and kissing the top of his hand.) 
Silly old dad. 



32 WOODBARROW FARM 

Dex. (Taking out his handkerchief and pretending to 
weep.) Ah, like her mother — like her mother. 

Allen, (.r. c, laughs nervously.) Her — her mother 
must ha' been rare beautiful, mustn't her? 

Dex. (c. rising and taking Allen by the hand.) 
Thank you, — ah, Mr. RoUitt, you have never known the 
blessing of a wife — (Clara looks at him) — you do not 
understand the feelings of a widower. {Weeping.) 

Allen. No — but — {laughing)* — but — I hopes to one 
day; no — no — I don't mean that — I — {confused) — Have 
thee had breakfast? (Clara sits on the soft L.) 

Dex. Yes, thank you, Allen, my boy. 

Allen. {Cheerfully.) Have another. 

Dex. No thanks, not to-day. 

Allen. What's the matter? Off thee feed? 

Dex. No, my lad, but we old folks ain't like you 
young country ones — nothing at present thank you — 
(pauses) — to eat. 

Allen. Have summat to drink. (Clara crosses L. 
Both men laugh, each in his own distinctive way. Dex. 
turns L. and catches Clara's face.) There be some rare 
old whiskey in the library. Thee'll find it on the side- 
"board — (Dex. goes up c.) — and it be more comfortable 
like in there than here. I'll just go and finish making 
myself beautiful. {Crosses to L.) 

Clara. Don't be too long. (Crossing and sitting L.C.) 

Allen. (Laughing.) No, it oughtn't to take me long 
to — (Dex. has his back to them, wine business at table 
u c.) — do that, ought it? (Goes to l. door down stage. 
Laughs, and then lozv to Clara as he is going.) I am not 
likely to stop upstairs long when I know thee's down- 
stairs. 

Clara. Go away, go away. 

(Exit Allen down stage l. Bus. She kisses her 
hand.) 

Dex. And I suppose you will go and throw this 
chance away, like you have every other. 

Clara. Well, what if I do? (Rises, crosses R.) 

Dex. What if you do? What are we to live on? 
(Goes to Clara l.) 

Clara. Gulls, I suppose — as we always have done. 

Dex. Yes, and is it pleasant living? Is it pleasant to 
have to slave and trick for every dinner? Is it pleasant 
to be kicked — sooner or later — out of every society one 
goes into? (Coming close and speaking low.) Was it 
pleasant to be buried for two years in that God-forsakea 



WOODBARROW FARM 33 

■hole by Exmoor, not daring to show our heads above 
ground for a moment? You've got a fine chance of be- 
ing respectable now. 

Clara. Too late, I'm afraid, though. 

Dex. (r. c.) Too late? 

Clara. Yes — you see, papa, dear, you haven't exactly 
brought me up in that way, and I'm afraid I'm too old to 
learn now. I don't think I should be quite at home as 
the wife of a piously brought up young man from the 
country. (Leans back — laughs.) 

Dex. And so you're going to let six thousand a year slip 
through your fingers. It's wicked — it's wicked. 

Clara. (Laughs — rises.) Well, it hasn't slipped 
through my fingers just at present, it is sticking to 
them pretty freely. (Crosses to R. — Dex is c. — toys ivith 
ring.) 

Dex. (Goes to table R. c.) And how long do you 
think he will stand you playing with him? 

Clara. Oh, a good long while yet. (Goes up.) 

Dex. (Puts hat on table R. c.) That's just where 
you're making a mistake then. He's not a fool. He'll 
want an answer, " Yes," or " No," soon, and what are you 
going to say then? 

Clara. (Looking out of window.) No. (Looking 
into fireplace r.) 

Dex. (After a pause — violently.) Luke Cranbourne's 
at the bottom of this. What devil's game is it that's 
going on between you and him? (Loudly.) 

Clara. I do wish you wouldn't drink when you're 
coming out anywhere, it always makes you so noisy. 
{At glass.) 

Dex. (Violently.) Take care, Clara — you seem to 
forget I'm your father. 

Clara. (Coldly.) The relationship was none of my 
seeking. Whatever responsibility attaches to the unfor- 
tunate — (moves near Dex.) — occurrence is not mine. 

Dex. (l. making movement as if to strike her.) Clara. 

Clara. (Facing him with quiet contempt — a pause.) 
Put down your hands, father. That period of my life is 
over. (Crosses. Dex. steps back, then throws himself 
into chair, leans his head on his arms, and bursts into 
tears r. c.) 

Dex. (Crying.) My own child hates me. 

Clara. (Crossing and laying a hand on his shoulder 
gently.) I don't mean to be hard, father, but you can't 
-expect much love and duty from me. Curses and blows 
■were all you ever gave me as a child, and ever since I 



34 WOODBARROW FARM 

became a woman you have merely hawked me about as 
your decoy. 

Dex. (Whimpering.) I only want you to do what's 
for your own good. 

Clara. {Turns azvay L.) Yes, but you must allow 
me to be the judge of that — and come — you haven't had 
much cause to grumble up to now. You've been able to 
be drunk every night for the last three months. 

Dex. {Rises c.) I am't been drunk. {Takes hat off 
table R. c.) 

Clara. Not for you perhaps — {goes l. a little) — drunk 
in the ordinary sense of the word — and I will get you 
something to-day if I can. 

Dex. {Drying his eyes.) God bless you, Clara, you're 
a good girl. Do you think you'll be able to get a twenty? 

Clara. You must leave it to me. I'll get you as much 
as I can. 

Allen. {Off l.) Thank you, Mr. Puffin. 

PiFF. {Off l.) Piffin, Piffin, sir. 

Clara. {Moving away towards door — upper L.) Come 
into the next room now. Here's Allen coming back. 

Dex. {As he follozvs her out.) Say you want to help 
a poor woman who's very ill, and has been ordered nour- 
ishing food and — {gags.) 

{Exeunt Clara and Dex. upper l.) 

{Enter Allen and Piff. l. Allen is completely dressed 
in the height of walking costume, and is evidently very 
uncomfortable. Enter Peters c. Pet. puts photo case 
on table R. c. Exits down c. Allen has on hat and 
coat, and Piff. is carrying his umbrella and gloves. Al- 
len should be got up in a slightly exaggerated masher 
style. He is smoking a cigarette.) 

Allen. I carn't breathe, Mr. Puffin. 

Piff. Oh, you will soon get used to that, sir. And 
would you please to remember my name is Piffin, sir? 
{Taking his hand.) Why, surely these are nines, sir, I 
think we could get them down to eight and a half, and if 
I were you, sir, I would show a little mare cufif, sir, it's 
always done in good society, sir ; besides, it makes the 
hand look smaller; a little cuff, sir, goes a long way in 
good society. 

Allen. Thank you, Mr. Piffin. {Shakes his hand.) 

Piff. Thank you, sir, but I don't think you ought to 
shake hands with me, sir. And when you do shake 
hands with your friends, sir — allow me {takes Allen's 
hand) shake high, sir. {Shakes his hand high.) You'll 



WOODBARROW FARM 35 

see it's always done in good society, sir. Lord Car- 
michaei's man told me he met you yesterday, sir. 

Allen. I — I don't know him, do I? 

PiFF. Oh, no, sir, but he knows you, sir, and he was 
rather complaining of your walk, sir? 

Allen. Why, what's it got to do with him? 

PiFF. Well, sir, knowing as Pm your coach, sir, he 
meant it as a friendly hint. You have rather a countri- 
fied walk, if you will forgive me for saying so — a more 
neglige style is adopted by the savoir vivre now, sir, and 
a more insouciant manner of carrying the umbrella. You 
walk too much in this way, sir. (Taking up umbrella, 
gags, and imitates.) 

Allen. Lord love us, do I walk like that? 

PiFF. Just like that, sir. You see yourself, sir, what 
a very iindestingnc appearance it presents. The present 
fashionable style is more like this, sir. {Performing an 
exaggerated Piccadilly dazvdle.) See, sir — body a little 
forward — knees stiff — and a slight wobble, sir — very slight. 
{Handing Allen the umbrella.) Perhaps, sir, you would 
take the umbrella and try it, sir. 

(Allen attempts the business.) 

PiFF. (Criticising Allen'.? practice. Allen crosses to 
K.) A little more bend, sir — a little wobble, sir — umbrella 
held lightly between the first and second fingers, sir, 
(Allen goes l.) and if you could manage — allow me, sir — • 
(takes umbrella, shozvs him, and returns it) to swing it 
right round now and then, sir, it adds great aplomb. 

Allen. Great what? 

PiFF. French, sir. 

Allen. (Swings umbrella round awkwardly.) Like 
that ? 

PiFF. Not quite like that, sir. A little more airily, 
sir. 

Allen. (Szvinging it.) Does it ever put anybody's 
eye out behind? 

PiFF. I don't think that point is considered of much 
importance in good society, sir — that is much better, sir. 
(Goes R. Allen l.) If you would practice like that a 
little every day, sir, you would soon pick it up, sir. A 
little more bend, sir, and — er — don't forget the wobble. 
(Exit L. down stage.) 

(Allen goes on practicing to himself, making as much 
fun as possible, consistent with comedy, out of the bus. 
As he is in the middle of it, enter Mrs. R. and Deb. door 
C, the door being opened for them by Peters. They stand 



36 WOODBARROW FARM 

c. staring aghast at Allen, who continues, unconscious of 
their presence.) 

Allen. (^Gags.) Soon pick it up! Strikes me some- 
one'll have to pick me up. It puts me in mind of one of 
our old turkey cocks. 

(Mrs. R. and Deb. come down stage a little.) 

Allen. (Bus. in r. corner of stage. Peters withdraws, 
grinning. ) 

Deb. (After a long pause, clapping her hands.) I 
know what it is, aunt. It's our Allen. 

Allen. (Seeing them.) Mother! (Comes down R. 
c. Deb. l. c.) 

Mrs. R. My boy! (They rush into each other's arms 
c. and Mrs. R. gives him a huge hug — gets R. of Allen, 
Deb. l. Then he and Deb. have an embrace, and then he 
and Mrs. R. for the second time.) 

Allen. (In the middle of Mrs. R. second hug.) Hold 
hard! 

Mrs. R. (Alarmed.) What's the matter, lad? 

Allen. Summat's gone. 

Mrs. R. What? 

Allen. I don't know; summat behind. (Drawing 
back R. and looking down at himself.) Mother, you've 
spoilt me. 

Mrs. R. Ah, they used to tell me I alius did that, 
lad. (Laughs.) 

Deb. (After gazing in silent admiration at Allen.) 
Oh, aunt, isn't it lovely? Look at its hat! 

Mrs. R. (Critically examining his clothes.) Ah — and 
there's some good stuff there, too. (Moving aivay.) 

Deb. (Going near and sniMng.) Oh, oh! Doesn't it 
smell nice — and — oh, look at its collar! (Allen 
pleased — begins to plume himself — Deb. begins to laugh.) 

Allen. What's the matter with the collar — what are 
you laughing at? (Trying to look at his own collar. 
Deb.'s laugh only grows, and Allen's indignation begins 
to rise.) 

Allen. What's the matter — what are you laughing at? 
(Deb. laughing more and more, goes to walk round him. 
Turning round so as to face her — his collar prevents him 
turning his head, and he has to walk round.) What are 
you up to? 

Deb. I want to see it all round. 

Allen. (Very indignantly.) Well then, you can't do 
it. I ain't a show. What are you laughing at? There's 
nothing to laugh at. (Mrs. R. laughs first time.) It's 



WOODBARROW FARM 37 

your ignorance, because you don't understand . things. 
What are you laughing at ? 

(Mrs. R., who has hitherto sat R. looking on, nozv also 
begins to laugh, and she and Deb. go on laughing more 
and more, Allen growing more and more indignant.) 

Allen. I am surprised at you, mother. Deb. alius 
was a — {the two women only laugh louder, and Allen 
in spite of himself begins to laugh too; afterwards he 
joins in heartily and all three laugh, after which they have 
another hug. Bus.) 

Mrs. R. {Exhausted.) Well, lad, and how dost thee 
like being a gentleman? {Sits r., Deb. sits l.) 

Allen, (c. doubtfully.) Well, it's got its drawbacks, 
mother. There's more work about it than you'd think 
for, you know, — but I think I shall be all right, I've got 
a good man learning me. He wur teaching me to walk 
this morning. That wus the Park stroll I wur practicing 
when you come in; see, mother? {Imitates stroll.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, well, us made a good man of 'ee down 
in Devon. I hopes they don't spoil 'ee, lad, in turning 
thee into a gentleman. 

Allen. Ah, no, mother. It's only a polishing up the 
outside. I'm old Exmoor oak — {puts his hat and um- 
brella on table r. c.) — I hope, right through, and they 
can't hurt that. When did 'ee come up? {Sits r. c.) 

Mrs. R. Only yesterday, and us went to Mrs. Clouter's 
and slept, and then us come on here this morning. 

Allen. And how long can* you stop ? 

Mrs. R. Well, us must start off to-morrow, some time. 

Allen. To-morrow! Oh, nonsense, mother. 

Mrs. R. Nonsense! Why, bless the lad, thee wouldn't 
have me away on Saturday. Why, who'd pay the wages, 
and see to everything? 

Allen. Why, there's Rogers there, ain't there? 

Mrs. R. Ah, why thee might just as well leave the 
key of the stable in charge o' the old bay mare, as trust 
him to look arter anything, except his own inside. 

Allen. {After a pause.) Mother! {Rises, goes to 
Mrs. R. r.) What do ye want to go back at all for, and 
work and worry yourself to death? Let me take a little 
house up here in London for thee and Deb, and then we 
can all be together. 

Mrs. R. {Aghast.) And leave the farm? 

Deb. {Turning round.) Oh, Allen! 

Allen. Why not? You've worked hard enough, 
mother — give the farm up and enjoy yourself. 

Mrs. R. Enjoy myself! Away from Woodbarrow 



38 WOODBARROW FARM 

Farm ! Why, lad, thy father wur born there and brought 
me home there — and he died there, and thee wur born 
there — and there be the pigs and the poultry ! (Begins 
to cry.) 

Allen. (Tenderly patting her.) All right, mother, all 
right. Us'll keep it on. 

Mrs. R. (JViping her eyes.) And thee might want to 
come back to it theeself some day, lad. 

Allen. (Laughing.) Why, thee don't think I'm go- 
ing to run through two hundred thousand, do ye, mother? 
We Devonshire lads win fortunes, not lose 'em. (Cross- 
ing c.) 

Mrs. R. Ah, no, lad. But thee knows the saying 
"Roses blossoni for a day. But stout old ivy's green al- 
way." Thee ain't likely to lose the money, if thee can 
help it, lad, but us all be in God's hands, and I'll be easier 
in my mind if the farm's there for thee to come home to. 
If anything happens, thee knows the way across the Moor, 
and thee knows how the latch goes, and me and the lass 
will be inside to welcome thee. 

Allen. (Goes L. takes Deb.'s hand.) Ah, I know 
you will, mother, both of you. 

Mrs. R. (Music— piano.) Leastways I shall— and the 
lass until her gets married, I suppose. (Deb. goes up a 
little; gets R.) 

Allen. (Surprised.) Until her gets married? (Deb. 
goes to Mrs. R. r.; tries to stop her speaking.) 

Mrs. R. (Sharply.) Ah, the lads ain't all fools. 

Allen. (Evidently troubled.) I never seemed to 
think o' Deb's getting married, somehow. 

Mrs. R. Well, other folks have. 

Allen. I can't fancy the old farm wi'out Deb. Lord, 
how lonesome it would be. 

Deb. (Who has been trying to stop Mrs. R., has come 
dozvn and stands by her aunt, l.) Oh, it's only aunt's 
fun. (Goes to Allen, l. c.) I'm not going to get mar- 
ried. Sure the pigs and cows are worrit enough wi' 
their foolish ways. I don't want any husband. 

Allen. Ah, thee will some day, o' course, and when 
thee does we must make thee comfortable, lass. (Taking 
her hand.) Thee shalt ha' the best farm in all the coun- 
try, and the best dairy, and the best stock. 

Deb. (Little c.) Thank thee, Allen dear. (Turns 
up stage.) 

Mrs. R. (Rising; music dies azvay.) Well, lass, I 
suppose us had better have a clean down and summat to 
eat, and then see about our bit o' shopping. 



WOODBARROW FARM 39 

Allen. Lord help us ! (Starting.) If I ain't forgot 
all about *em. 

Mrs. R. All about whom? 

Allen. Why, Clara— Miss Dexter and her father — 
they be in the library waiting for me. 

Deb. Oh, don't let us keep you from them. (A little 
spitefully.) 

Allen. Oh, I shan't go out this morning, now. (Gets 
hat and umbrella from table R. c.) I shall get them to 
stop here instead, and us can have a nice quiet day all to- 
gether. {Going toiaards door, lower l.) Come on, 
mother. {Crosses to c.) I've got a room fitted up 
a'purpose for thee and Deb, with a roost just outside the 
window with a cock and three hens in it, and he crows all 
night. 

{Exeunt Allen^ Deb., and Mrs. R. down stage.) 

{Enter Baron von Schorr (i) and the Hon. Tom. Gus- 
SETT (2), ushered in by Peters c. (3). Enter Luke c, 
and Dexter u. l. (4), afterwards Clara (5.) Baron 
goes down u, Gussett r., Luke r. c. Dexter l. c.) 

Dex. (l.) Rollitt's going out. You can't see him. 
It's no good your coming here to try and fleece him this 
morning. I tell you he's going out. 

Luke. (Coming down r. c.) Ah, we'll wait and say 
good-bye to him, Jack. 

Baron, (l. c.) Ah, greedy Jack, — greedy Jack — you 
want de bird all to yourself. Nein — nein, zhare and zhare 
alike. Herr Cranbourne have a ving, Tom Gussett, he 
have de oder ving. You and your fair daughter have de 
legs, and I vill have de breast. 

Clara. No, you shall have the bones after we've done 
with them. Make 'em into a stew — keep a German baron 
for a week. (Others laugh.) 

Baron. Ah, Trickey, you here. (Motioning towards 
Clara and her father.) Ah, de early birds — de early 
birds. 

Clara. Yes, we have to be. (Rises, and goes R. imi- 
tating him.) De worms get up so early nowadays. (En- 
ter Allen lower l. Baron goes to meet him. Guss. 
puts him away and he turns up c. Speaks to Dex.) 

Allen. Hullo ! Unexpected pleasure ! 

(Luke comes forwa>-d and greets Allen c.) 

Guss. (r.) Haven't seen you for an age, dear boy. 

Allen. No. (Goes to Luke r.) I've been keeping 
pretty respectable of late — I — I mean, you know, I haven't 
been going out much. 

Luke, (l.) Tom and I are going over to Paris for 



40 WOODBARROW FARM 

the Vincennes meeting, and we've come to see if you will 
join. 

Guss. (l. of Allen r.) Yes, do come; then we can 
show you about Paris a bit, you know. 

Luke. Ah, yes, and we shall be able to get you into 
one or two things in the betting line if you are with us. 
We can introduce you to some friends of ours. 

Allen. Ah, it be very kind of thee, I'm sure. 
{They go on talking r.) 

Baron. (Aside to the Dexters, back of Clara.) I 
say. Jack, my boy, how long have you been Colonel ? I did 
not know you vas a militaire. 

Clara. Papa joined the Salvation Army about the 
same time that ^ou were raised to the German Peerage. 
Don't talk so loud, my dear Baron. 

Baron. Gut, gut. 

(Luke sits down stage R. with back to audience, looking 
at betting book.) 

Guss. (To Allen r.) Of course we shall take care 
of your interests as if it was for ourselves. 

Baron. (Comes and puts arm in Allen's.) Of course 
they vill take care ob your interests for themselves. 
Come here. (Goes l.) You know I have been tinking 
about you so much ob late. Ja! 

Allen. Ah, very kind of thee, I'm sure. 

Baron, (l.) Ja, I say to myself, my fren Rollitt — 
I always call you my fren — my fren Rollitt, I say, he is a 
gut fellow — he has money — all he vants is family. 
(Guss. goes to Dex. l. c.) He must marry family. 
(Dex. goes c. and tries to hear conversation — Baron no- 
tices it and crosses to r. zvith Allen.) Now, Miss Dex- 
ter, she is a nice girl — ach, such a nice girl — but she has 
no family. 

Allen. No — not yet. (Luke gets near fireplace R.) 

Baron, (r. Seeing it after a zvhilc.) Ah, nein, nein — 
I do not mean vat you mean — I mean family de oder 
vay — backvards — dead uns. 

Allen. Oh ! 

Baron. Ja. Now, dere is my niece, look at her 
family! Look at her ancestors — all barons — German 
barons ! And she is such a nice girl — so beaudiful — so 
plump — ach, I will indroduce her to you. She vill mash 
you — so much. She — 

(Enter Mrs. R., Deb. behind her, loxi'cr l. door. Seeing 
the room full she stands by door hesitatingly.) 

Guss. (Coming down and interrupting, with a sneer- 



WOODBARROW FARM 41 

ing laugh.) Your nurse, Rollitt, I think. (Comes c. 
Luke goes to fireplace r.) 

Allen. (Turns and sees them, and then goes towards 
them.) Yes, Mr. Gussett — the best nurse a man can 
have — my mother. 

(Guss. confused, but soon recovers himself and laughs 
it off. Col. D., Luke^ and Clara come forward to greet 
Mrs. R. and Deb. l. c, and the customary ceremony, etc., 
is gone through — all speaking together.) 

Clara. (Smiling pleasantly, shakes hands with Mrs. 
R.) Good-morning, Mrs. Rollitt. You are looking so 
well and jolly. How are you, my dear? (To Deb. 
Between these two the greeting is really strained and 
awkward, although outwardly pleasant enough. Clara 
kisses Deb., but Deb. seems to shrink — she turns away. 
Clara notices this, and follozvs Deb. as she turns azvay up 
C, with a meaning look. While it has been going on 
the greeting bcfivccn Mrs. R. and Luke has taken place — 
Mrs. R. down l.) 

Allen. (Finishing his introduction of Mrs. R. and 
Baron.) The Baron von Schnorr — Mrs. Rollitt, my 
mother. 

Baron. Your mudder — Oh, impossible. (Goes L. c.) 

Mrs. R. (Huffy.) I beg your pardon, Mr. Snort. 

Baron. Ach, ja, you are laughing at me — not your 
mudder. 
(Clara walks round at back, drops down r. near Luke.) 

Mrs. R. (Very indignant.) Yes — his mother. Don't 
you cast any of your nasty foreign insinuations upon me. 
I'm his lawful married mother, and his father was his 
father, and a better man never lived, as anyone in Ex- 
moor — 

Allen. (Soothing her.) It's all right, mother, the 
Baron only means it complimentary. Thee'st supposed 
to look too young to be anybody's mother. He has to take 
(Clara sits r.) thee for my sister. (Laughing — goes up 
L. c. with Dex.) 

Baron. Ja — I take you for his sister. Ach, you Eng- 
lish ladies, you never seem to get more old — you only get 
more round, more — more jolly. 

Mrs. R. (Still indignant.) Ah — foolishness. (Ruf- 
fling her dress and sitting very stiff h. on sofa.) 

Baron. (Sitting on sofa beside her.) It must be de 
climate keep you so moist. (Drawing closer.) I knew 
a man, he lives in your Manchester, and — (goes on talk- 
ing to Mrs. R. but is not heard.) 



42 WOODBARROW FARM 

(Allen goes up and joins Col. Dex. up l. c. and Clara. 
After a little while Col. Dex. appropriates him, leaving 
Clara a little to R. of them unnoticed. Guss. continues 
talking to Deb. Deb. evidently bored and anxious to get 
away. Guss. trying to be very agreeable. At this point 
when all the others are occupied, Luke r. beckons Clara 
to him and she crosses. Their conversation is in eager 
undertone and they watch to see that no one is noticing 
them.) 

Luke. Have you got him to join yet? 

Clara. No — he kicks against it. 

Luke. If his name isn't down in the list of directors 
before Monday I shall be arrested. 

Clara. Can't you get away? 

Luke. No, I'm watched night and day. If he joins, 
the company will float and it will be all right. 

Clara. I shall be seeing him alone this morning. I 
will try again. 

Luke. And keep to plain gold and diamonds for pres- 
ents. Those fallal things {touching her bracelet) are no 
good. Don't fetch ten per cent, of their value. 

Deb. (Part of the conversation between herself and 
Guss. Abstractedly, her attention being fixed on Luke 
and Clara.) Ha, ha! that was very funny. 

(Guss. R. with Deb. looks at her in amazement.) 

Luke. {Down r.) There's that milkmaid watching us 
— don't look around, answer as though I had been propos- 
ing to you — that will account for our talking together. 
{In a louder but still undertone.) Is there no hope for 
me? 

Clara. {Dozvn r. — smiling.) None, Luke — please 
don't refer to the subject again. I like you — respect you 
— will be a sister to you — but love — 

Luke. {Grinning.) Yes, it's that RoUitt that you 
love. (Deb., followed by Guss., has moved away to win- 
dow.) 

Clara. Mr. Cranbourne, you have no right — 

Luke. {Who has been watching Deb. Chuck it up, it's 
all right, she's gone to the window. 

Clar.\. I don't suppose we've deceived her very much, 
she's a sharp little minx. Get these men away. 

(Clara takes up book, and standing, toys with it up R. 
front of R. c. table.) 

Baron. {Finishing.) She never leave her bed for 
eighteen years — she take dree dozes — den she get up and 
go for a dree mile walk. 



WOODBARROW FARM 43 

Mrs. R. (Rising.) Lor! It must have been quite a 
change for her. 

Baron. (Rising.) Ja. It vas a miragle. (Turning and 
seeing Luke beside him.) Ha, my dear boy, ready? 

Luke. (Crosses to Baron.) Ready and off. 

Allen. (Coming down c. followed by Dex.) Oh, are 
you three going? 

(Baron goes c.) 

Luke. Yes, I know you'll be glad to be rid of us. 
(Laughing.) 

Allen. Well, I have (looking at watch) one or two 
little things to do this morning. 

(Baron goes up c.) 

Dex. Well, look here, Allen, I'm just going to have a 
■quiet weed in the smoking room till you're ready. See? 

Allen. Oh, it be a billiard room now, thee know. 

Luke. Oh. have you had a table put up ? 

Clara. (Who has just crossed over and joined the 
£roup L. to Mrs. R. who is just about quitting the room 
by door l. lower.) Do you allow your little boy to play 
billiards, Mrs. Rollitt? I don't think I should if I had 
-charge of him. (Playfully.) 

Mrs. R. Oh, the more he's up to every sort o' game 
that's played the better for him, to my thinking. 
(Exit Mrs. R. l.) 

Allen. (Laughing.) Oh, it keeps me at home out of 
mischief, like. (Moves to upper door l.) Come and 
have a look at it. (Goes up c.) 

Baron. (As they go.) Ach, billiards iz a beaudiful 
game. (Aside to Luke.) But you cannot vin much at 
id, id take so dam long. 

(Exeunt all but Guss. and Deb. [l.] — all talking as they 
go. Guss. and Deb. near fireplace.) 

Deb. (r.) Well, I'm afraid, Mr. Gussett, I must really 
go now. (Goes dozvn stage. Guss. goes l. c. and stops her.) 

Guss. (Getting between her and the door l. to which 
she is backing.) Oh, no, don't go. Do you know, I 
shall really think you are trying to avoid me. 

Deb. (Retreating behind table — Guss. takes a step.) 
Oh, not at all. 

Guss. (c. gets L. of R. c. table.) Ah, so pleasant to 
hear you say so. You know. Miss Deacon, I so want you 
to like me. 

Deb. Yes, well — I do very much, only I can't stop to 
do it now, because you see aunt wants me. (Moves c 
up stage. Guss. stops her. Bus. of Deb. trying to get 



44 WOODBARROW FARM 

away and of Guss. cutting her off and trying to get near 
her; is kept up throughout the scene.) 

Guss. Ah, but your aunt sees so much of you and I 
can see so little. 

Deb. (Laughing, zvalks L. c. up stage. Guss. at head 
of sofa.) I'm afraid there's not very much more of me to 
see. I must go really, because we have got to do some 
shopping this morning. 

Guss. Ah, let me come with you? 

Deb. Oh, no, I won't tax your kindness. I know you 
men hate shopping, and we are going into drapers' and 
dressmakers' and all sorts of dreadful places, (c.) 

Guss. Ah, they will not be dreadful if you are there, 
Miss Deacon. 

Deb. And aunt always takes such a long time shop- 
ping. (Goes up c.) Never can make up her mind, and 
I'm worse still, and — (makes movement, Guss. moves be- 
hind settle and stops her down l.) 

Guss. Ah, the longer you take, the better I shall like 
it. I shall enjoy coming, I assure you. 

Deb. (Getting more and more cross, comes R. c.) Well 
you know I really don't think you will; and really, Mr. 
Gussett — (turns r. a little.) 

Guss. (Interrupting.) Ah, I know better. No, I 
quite insist upon coming. 

Deb. (With calm, suppressed temper.) Ah, all right, 
Mr. Gussett, you shall. (Crossing l. meets Mrs. R. just 
entering L.) Aunt, I want you. (Turning her round 
again.) 

Mrs. R. (l.) Why, whatever's the — 

Deb. I'll tell you, come along. 

(Exeunt Mrs. R. and Deb. l.) 

Guss. (r. turns and arranges his moustache in glass 
over chimney). Might do worse, Gussy, my boy. (Turns 
round again.) She's not a bad little thing, lick her into 
shape a bit. 

(Enter Luke; upper l.) 

Luke. (Crossing to table and taking up his hat.) 
Coming? 

Guss. No, dear boy. (Laughing.) Got a little job on. 

Luke. Oh, on the war-path? 

Guss. Yes — well, I may as well keep it in hand — 
Chawbacon will make her good for a thousand or two,. 
I expect — if nothing better turns up. 

Luke. Ah— wish you luck— she'll be a good match 
for you, I think, Gussy. 

(Exit Luke c.) 



WOODBARROW FARM 45 

(Enter Mrs. R. and Deb. lower door l. Both are wear- 
ing old-fashioned big country shawls, and big bonnets. 
Deb. evidently has on one of her aunt's. Their dress alto- 
gether is as extravagant as comedy will permit, and has 
evidently been hastily put on. Deb. also carries a big 
country hand-basket covered with a cloth, the neck of a 
bottle sticking prominently out, and a huge gamp. Deb. 
smothering her laughter). 

Deb. (Crossing r.c.) We are quite ready, Mr. Gussett 

Mrs. R. Yes, we are quite ready. 

Guss. (Who has regarded them with a horrified stare.) 
Ah, yes, if you will wait a minute I think I will call a 
cab. 

Deb. Oh, we'd rather walk, thank you — you would 
rather walk, wouldn't you, aunt? 

Mrs. R. Oh, I've made up my mind for a walk. 

Deb. Yes, we would both rather walk. Will you give 
your arm to aunty, Mr. Gussett? (Guss. crosses to c.) 
And be very careful of her at the crossings, because she's 
rather nervous, and so am I. 

Deb. (r.c. handing the basket to Guss.) You won't 
mind carrying the basket, will you, Mr. Gussett, because 
it's so heavy? (He takes it bewildered and helpless.) 

(As Guss., Deb. and Mrs. R. reach door c, enter Allen 
and Clara l. upper e.) 

Allen. Hulloa! Where be thee off to? 

Deb. Down Regent street, and up — Piccadilly, I think 
you call it. Good-bye. 

(Exeunt Mrs. R., Deb. and Guss. c.) 

Clara. (Comes l. laughing.) I should like to be there 
to see the Hon. Tom Gussett at the crossings. 

Allen. (Half amused, half cross.) Ah, her be a mad- 
cap, her be, that girl. What makes thee so anxious that I 
should join the company? 

Clara. (Sitting l. on sofa, Allen stands by her, behind 
sofa, leaning over.) Why, don't you see, poor papa could 
be secretary if you joined. They would let you nominate 
him, and we should be so glad to be earning somethings 
(very low) — and we are so poor. (Laying her hand on 
him.) Do join, Allen, for my sake. 

Allen. (Yielding — back of sofa.) Ah, thee don't know 
how hard thee makes it for me to say no. 

Clara. Then don't say it — it would make me so happy, 
(Looking up at him.) 

Allen. It would? 

Clara. (Laying her hand as if unwittingly on his.y 



46 WOODBARROW FARM 

And I should think you — (drooping her head.) Ah! I'd 
better not say what 1 should think you. 

Allen. Ah, well, lass, if you wish it, I will then. 

Clara. You will really? 

Allen. Yes — if it will make thee happy I will. And 
now let's talk about yourself. (Sits l. next to Clara.) 
Thee is the company I most wants to join. How have 
thee been getting on? 

Clara. (Looking doivn.) Oh, dear! 

Allen. What does "Oh dear" mean? 

Clara. "Oh, dear" means very bad. Debts. (With 
assumed bewilderment.) Awful! 

Allen. (Smiling.) What sort of debts? 

Clara. Oh, all sorts — tradespeople, you know, and all 
that, and then I 'thought I could win a little by betting — 
(Allen rises) — and put it all right — and I've been and 
lost. Oh dear! 

Allen. (Vexed, goes c.) I should ha' thought there 
wur enough fools among us men trying to win money 
that way. 

Clara. I am naughty, I know — but papa leaves every- 
thing to me, and I get so frightened when I see the debts 
mounting up and nothing to meet them, and I've no one to 
advise me. (Crosses l.) 

Allen. (After a pause, rises, goes to Clara — kindly.) 
I didn't mean to speak unkind, lass. I'm full of old- 
fashioned notions about women, I suppose. I like 'em to 
be women — not mere men in petticoats. How much does 
thee owe? 

Clara. Oh, heaps! (Handing him pocket-book.) Look. 
(Allen crosses to R. and sits at table.) And I haven't 
any money. (Rising and looking over his shoulder r., as 
he examines the book.) Do you think they'll put me in 
prison? 

Allen. (Turns — laughing.) Thee ought to be taken 
in charge by somebody, that's certain. (Allen rises, puts 
some notes from his pocket-book into hers, and hands it 
back to her.) I owe your father a little over one or two 
bets. I can take it off that and give him the rest, like. 
(Crosses to l.) 

Clara. (Takes book and lays it on the table — the notes 
drop out on to the table.) You are good, Allen, really. 
(Puts book on table R. — half to herself.) I wish some- 
times that you weren't — that you were more like other 
men I have met. (Turning azvay R.) 

Allen. Why, would thee like me better? 

Clara. No, but 1 should like myself better. 



WOODBARROW FARM 47 

Allen. What do thee mean, lass? 

Clara. Nothing. I'm not used to your sort of men. 
(Goes to fireplace, then up R., throwing off her seriousness 
and turning towards him.) You are like the knight, Allen, 
out of some old legend that comes and slays the dragon 
and sets the frightened princess free from all her trouble. 
{Laughing.) 

Allen. {Goes to table R. Clara r.c. at top of table.) 
When art thee going to gie me the right to be thy knight 
always ? 

Clara. .{Sits at table playfully.) Ah, the gallant 
knights are apt to turn into grim jailers — {comes l. of r. 
table) — when they get the princess into their own castles. 

Allen. Can't thee believe me, Clara? Trust me, lass — 
I'm only a rough country chap to be asking a beautiful 
lady like thee to be my wife. But if I can't gie thee any- 
thing very showy on the outside, it will make me the more 
eager alius to keep a loving heart for thee within. 

Clara. Oh. no. {Sits in chair L. of table.) A lover 
on his knees is so much nicer than a lover on your arm. 
You are so nice, Allen, as you are, you can't think. I 
really couldn't bring myself to risk a change. 

Allen, (c.) It would be a change for thee, Clara— 
{leans on table at back of Clara, puts hand on Clara's 
chair)— irom a rough and troubled road to one where 
every stone wur smoothed away from your path— where 
every thorn wur held back as you passed— where, instead 
of care for the day and dread for the morrow, thee would 
feel that a strong arm wur round thee— that a loving hand 
wur working out thy life for thee. Cannot thee risk the 
change, Clara? 

Clara. {Rises, Allen takes her right hand, turns away 
R.) Ah, I suppose there are such lives for some women. 
It must be very good when you are tired. {Facing round 
to L.C.) And you, Allen — women do not always seem so 
charming after marriage as they did before. It might be 
a risk for you. 

Allen. To have the sweetest, noblest woman in the 
world to be my wife? I'll risk that. {Laughs, comes c.) 

Clara. {Turning away again to R., Allen l.c.) Ah, 
you boys, you think all women are angels. 

Allen. So they are — a good woman is an angel. 

Clara. {At tire, facing round and looking at him.) 
How do you know I am good? {Very low and serious. 
Allen drops down c. A pause. He looks in surprise and 
inquiry at her, not knowing what to answer.) 

Clara. Hadn't you better make sure, Allen? {Laugh- 



48 WOODBARROW FARM 

ing.) What do you know of my past — of even my present 
— of whence I came — what I am? (Laughs.) Suppose, 
Allen, suppose I were only an adventuress. (Takes a 
step.) A woman with the blood of sharpers and thieves 
in her veins — whose nursery was the gambling house — 
whose school was the Cafe and the Boulevards — a woman 
who earned her daily bread by shamelessness and cunning 
— a woman whose past would ever follow like a shadow 
the footsteps of her life — whose future must ever be a 
darker shadow still. Ah, Allen, take care. Cupid ties a 
bandage over men's eyes. Hymen, when it is too late, 
plucks it off. Hadn't you better lift a corner cff the hand- 
kerchief, Allen, while we are yet upon the step without, 
lest beside your hearth, when the door has shut us in, you 
cast it loose, to find I am a stain upon your name — a 
shadow in your home — a blight upon your life? (Laugh- 
ing.) Allen, take care — take care. (Crosses to L. Allen 
moves up a trifle.) 

Allen. (Recovering front the bewilderment with which 
he has heard her.) Ah, it's well for thee that it is thee, 
and not anyone else that talks like this about 'ee. 

Clara. Ah, but Allen, try and find out a little more 
about me; it's just a whim of mine — I want to feel sure 
that you know me — just to please me. 

Allen. If I couldn't trust thee — (takes her hand) — 
lass, I shouldn't love thee. 

Clara. (Crosses to r.c. Allen follozvs.) Ah, you are a 
dear good fellow, Allen, and I won't tease you any more. 
And you will join the company, won't you? And 
then you shall get me that dear little diamond brace- 
let that we looked at — do you remember it? — and you shall 
put it on yourself. (Allen by her side R. All this is said 
with every trick of fascination at her command, and now 
she playfully holds up her arm, from which the loose sleeve 
falls back, close to his face.) On that. (He drops on his 
knees and kisses her arm). 

(Enter Deb. c.) 

Clara. (Snatches her arm away.) Deborah! (Allen 
rises.) 

Allen. (Turning and seeing her, goes to fireplace R.) 
Hullo, thee's back soon. 

Deb. Yes, aunt met Mrs. Clouter just outside, so I 
pleaded a headache and left them. (Throwing oif bonnet 
and shawl on chair and coming dotvn.) Don't you think 
Col. Dexter would like a game of billiards, Allen ? 

Allen. No, he's all right — he's smoking. (Crosses L.) 

Deb. Oh, I'm sure he'd like a game (Clara motions 



WOODBARROW FARM 49 

Allen away) , and I want to have a chat with Miss Dexter. 
We shan't see each other after this morning for goodness 
knows how long. 

Allen. {Moving away l.) Ah, I understand now. 
{Goes up stage l.) I'll go, and you can tell each other 
about your new frocks. 

{Exit Allen l., Clara goes c, Deb. l.c. and Clara look 
at each other.) 

Deb. {After a pause.) I came back to see you, Miss 
Dexter, before you left. 

Clara. {Coldly.) It was very good of you. 

Deb. I want to know whether you are playing the fool 
with Allen, or whether you mean to marry him. 

Clara. I have heard of that sort of question being 
put to a gentleman under certain circumstances. 
{Crosses to L.) 

Deb. It is put to the person who is supposed to be act- 
ing dishonorably — I put it to you. 

Clara. I am afraid I have been mixing things up. I 
was under the impression that it was the stout lady, your 
aunt, that was Mr. Rollitt's mother. 

Deb. You are very smart, Miss Dexter, and I am not, 
but this is no game — it is earnest. 

Clara. Then I would suggest to you that your cousin 
is quite capable of taking care of himself. 

Deb. Yes, against a man; but not against the woman 
he loves and trusts. It is his love that enables you to 
deceive him. 

Clara. {Crossing to r. — sits on chair near table R.) 
You seem to have made up your mind, my dear child, that 
I am deceiving him. 

Deb. (l.c.) I know that he has asked you to become 
his wife, and I know that although you have let him think 
it is all right, you have never given him a real answer. I 
know that you accept his attentions, his invitations, his 
presents. {Noticing the hook and notes on the table, 
points to them.) And all the while you are having 
whispered interviews and secret meetings with another 
man. 

Clara. {Coolly counting notes.) If you are thinking 
of the conversation you were trying to listen to just now — 

Deb. That is only the latest of many such I have 
noticed. They began three months ago, down in Devon- 
shire. I come to London and find the same thing going on. 

Clara. {Sneering.) You really ought to have been a 
detective, the force might have been some use then. 

Deb. I'm not blind. {Goes c.) Allen is. But that is 



so WOODBARROW FARM 

not all. These things might be explained by themselves — 
suspicious though they are — but just now, going down- 
stairs, I picked up a purse. (Pausing and looking at 
Clara, who, hovuever, makes no sign.) It is your purse. 
(Throws it into Clara's lap.) I opened it to see whom it 
belonged to — and inside it is a wedding ring. Is your 
name Dexter or Cranbourne? 

Clara. (Risiug.) I really must decline to answer any 
questions of yours. You are so exceedingly rude. (Crosses 
up behind table R.c.) 

Deb. You need not answer me. Answer Allen. Tell 
him that you will be his wife — or that you cannot. (Clara 
takes no notice.) Do you refuse? (Crossing l.) 

Clara. I refus'e to be dictated to. 

Deb. Then I shall communicate my suspicions to Allen. 

Clara. (Turning fiercely.) Do so. Tell him — (walks 
round table to back of Deb. c.) — that you believe that I am 
the wife of another man, and am playing a shameful part 
with him merely to sponge on him. That I am fondling 
him with the one hand only the better to pick his pocket 
with the other. Tell him that you believe he is sur- 
rounded by a gang of adventurers and thieves, of which 
I am the willing decoy. Tell him your suspicions, and I 
will tell him that they are the poisonous concoctions of a 
jealous woman — of a woman who loves him herself— 
(laughs) — and seeks to win him from her more favored 
rival, by lies and trickery. (Goes down r.) 

Deb. (Quietly.) You shall answer him for all that, 
or he shall know the reason why you dare not. (Crosses 
■L., and calls.) Allen! Allen! 

(Enter Allen l. up stage). 

Deb. (l. c.) Allen, is Miss Dexter engaged to be 
married to you or not? 

Allen, (l.) Well. (Laughs.) Blest if I could tell 
'ee that, Deb. That be the very thing I ha' been trying to 
find out myself. Bain't it, Clara? Only her be such a 
tease. (All said laughingly.) 

Deb. (Sharply.) You mean you have never been able 
to get a plain answer, yes or no? 

Allen. Gently, lass. Thee be mistaking this for some 
business of thine. 

Deb. Allen, we've been like brother and sister all our 
lives, and your happiness is my happiness. I have my 
reasons — very strong reasons — for asking you to ask Miss 
Dexter now, before me, whether she will be your wife. 

Allen. I can't say I thank thee. Deb, for interfering in 
a matter that don't concern thee. (To Clara, crossing to- 



WOODBARROW FARM 51 

her.) I hope, Clara, you don't think as I have any hand 
in this, but as things stand now, it will perhaps be best 
(advancing) if I do ask thee. Will thee be my wife? 

Clara. (Crosses down. Very quietly and deliberately.) 
Yes! (Stepping forward and putting her hand in Allen's, 
c. A pause. She then, glacing first at Deb., draws Allen 
slowly to her, and they kiss. They cross r.) 

Allen. I think now, Deb, that Miss Dexter has a right 
to know thy "reasons." 

Deb. They were mistaken ones, Allen. Please forgive 
me, both of you. 

(Exit Deb. l.) 

Allen. (Bewildered — looks after Deb.) What does it 
all mean? 

Clara. I will tell you some time. Never mind now. 

Allen. Ah, well, us oughtn't to be angry with her, any- 
how, for what her's done. (Takes CLARA'.y hand in his.) 
Ought us? (Draws her to him and kisses her forehead). 

Clara. (Disengaging herself gently.) I am going to 
tell papa. I am so happy. (Crosses L., looking back to 
him laughingly.) 

(Exit Clara l. up stage). 

Allen, (c. after a pause.) Everything I want in the 
whole wide world, and three months ago — (Breaks off 
and pauses his hand over his eyes.) I wonder if I shall 
wake up in a minute in the old farm and find that the 
£200,000 and Clara ha' only been dreams. (Rousing him- 
self.) Ah, no, it be real enough. (Looks round.) Ah, 
they call Fortune a fickle jade, but her's been a firm friend 
to me. I'll drink thee a bumper, Fortune lass. (Turns to 
table R., on zvhich are ivine and glasses, and pours out a 
glassful.) I don't know how much a bumper is, but I 
expects it's about a glassful, and thee shall ha' it. (Takes 
glass in his right hand, and raises it.) Here's thy jolly 
good health, my lass. To Lady Fortune ! 

(Enter Peters c. upper door, with card on salver.) 

Allen. (Lozvers glass untouched.) What's the matter? 

Peters. (Coming forward and presenting salver.) A 
gentleman to see you, sir. 

Allen. (Takes card, but does not look at it.) He'll 
have to be quick about it then. Send un up. (Footman 
seems to hesitate. Sharply.) Send un up. Send un up. 

(Exit Peters c.) 
Another of my swell friends, I suppose; they seem to be 
swarming this — (r. c. glances at card, his hand holding the 



52 WOODBARROW FARM 

glass sinks lozver and lower, he gazes round bewilder- 
ingly.) 

{Enter Richard Hanningford c.) 

{reads card in amazed tone.) Richard Hanningford, I 

saw him lying dead before my own eyes three months ago I 

Hann. {At door, raising hat.) I beg your pardon! 

{The glass in Allen's hand ovcrturiis). 



MEDIUM CURTAIN. 



ACT III. 

Scene I. The library at Allen's Chambers. Fire l. Doors 
R. and c. Table l.c. Big easy chair l. by fire. 
Peters discovered l. c. arranging and cutting 
papers on table and whistling. 
{Enter Piffin r. Music to open.) 
PiFF. Have you seen my cub about? 
Peters. {Without looking up.) No, Foxey, I ain't. 
■Didn't know as you had had one. 

PiFF. (c.) You know who I mean — your master. 
Peters. {Going to door c.) Not far off from where 
yours is I suppose. 

{Exit Peters c.) 
PiFF. Um! The master has been getting impertinent 
to me of late, so the servants seem to be following suit. 
{Shrugging his shoulders.) I shall throw this job up 
•when I've made another hundred or two. I wonder how 
much longer he's going to keep me waiting. 
{Exit PiFF. c.) 

{Enter Allen r. creeping in cautiously in a mysterious 
and watchful manner. He has a huge pewter pot in one 
hand and a large church-warden clay pipe alight in the 
other. He looks round stealthily, listens, then crosses 
nervously and sits l. in easy chair. He stretches himself 
out as luxuriously as his tight clothes will allow — 
especially the collar. Takes a long pull at the pot and 
long puffs at the pipe. In the middle of each pull, grunts 
"good" in evident enjoyment.) 

Allen. {Chuckling in a deep undertone. Crosses to C. 
and sits.) Ah-h-h, I've done un this time. He's waiting 
upstairs to curl my hair. (Chuckling again.) Told un 
I'd come up when {grandly) I'd finished conducting my 
correspondence. (Chuckles, pulls at pipe, and takes a 
deep draught.) First time I've ever enjoyed myself since 

S3 



54 WOODBARROW FARM 

I came into my property. {Breaks out into some country 
ale-house sort of song, sings, warming as he goes on with 
great gusto. Near the end 

{Enter Piffin c, unseen by Allen. Piff. comes down 
and stands c. looking on. Allen finishes song and then 
buries his face in the pot. As his eyes emerge over the 
brim he catches sight of Piff. He remains looking at him 
for a while and then slowly puts the pot on the table.) 

Allen. What do thee want? Didn't I tell 'ee I wur 
going to conduct my correspondence, and that I didn't 
want to be disturbed? 

Piff. {Goes up table.) I beg pardon, sir, but I thought 
maybe you had completed your correspondence, especially 
as there was only one letter this morning, and that was a 
circular about coals. 

Allen. Oh, did you. Well, I ain't you see. I'm going 
to write a lot of original correspondence this morning, and 
I'm collecting my thoughts. {Goes on smoking sulkily.) 

Piff. Yes, sir — certainly, sir — but might I be allowed 
to suggest, sir, that a pot of ale and a clay pipe are hardly 
the dolce far niente of a grand seigneur. 

Allen. Hardly the what of my which? Look here, 
don't you be so spry at calling me them jaw-breaking 
foreign names, because I don't like it. It wur only yester- 
day you alluded to me as a bo-mo, and last week you said 
I ought to be in the hot tongs. I didn't say anything at 
the time, but you drop it. 

Piff. I referred to you as belonging to the beau monde, 
sir, and I may have said your position was now among 
the haut ton. We always talk like that in good society, 
sir. Both expressions were flattering, very flattering. 

Allen. Ah, maybe they wur and maybe they wurn't. 
Next time, you call it me in English, and then I can judge 
for myself. And don't worrit me to-day at all. I've got 
a trying morning before me, and I'm going to have a little 
quiet enjoyment to set myself up before it begins. 

Piff. Might I suggest, then, sir, that a cigarette and a 
little absinthe would be more de rigueur? My late 
lamented master the Count de Fizziani invariably took a 
little absinthe after breakfast and found great benefit 
from it. 

Allen. Yes, I know. I tried your friend's cough mix- 
ture before, you know. Old ale's good enough for me. 

Piff. But, sir — 

Allen. Don't you worrit. I've been a gentleman for a 
month; I think I might have a morning of¥. 

Piff. Very well, sir. Just as you please, of course, sir^ 



WOODBARROW FARM 55 

but I've my tharacter to consider, sir — and — and — I am 
not accustomed to the service of gentlemen with pot- 
house proclivities. 

Allen. {Sotto voce.) Oh, go and hang yourself. 

PiFF. {Up c.) That's never done now, sir, in good 
society. My late lamented master, the Count de Fizziani^ 

Allen. (Springing up, working Piff. round, from table 
L. to desk R.) Oh, you go to your late lamented master, 
the fizzing Count, and tell him to — I have had eno' of him 
and I've had eno' of you. Blest if I've had a happy moment 
since you came into the house. You've dressed me up like 
a tailor's dummy, and curled my hair like a Sunday school 
kid; you've made me talk like a man in a play, and walk 
like a monkey on stilts. Thee've chivied me about from 
morning till night, and thee've rammed that old lamented 
corpse of yours down my throat every two minutes of the 
day. I've put up wi' it all for a long while because I 
thought thee meant well, and wur a-trying to make me into 
a gentleman, but blest if I think thee knows much more 
about the genuine article than I does, and I'm going to go 
it in my own way now. Look here. {Takes off his tie 
and collar and throws them down and jumps on them, 
pulls off his coat and throzvs it in a corner, ruffles his 
hair, unbuttons and throws back his waistcoat, kicks off 
his boots, and throws himself into easy chair, sticks his 
feet on table, takes long pull from the pot, slams it on 
table again, and commences to smoke his pipe vigorously, 
looking defiantly at Piff.) That's the sort o' man I'm 
going to be now. {Sits L.) 

Piff. {Who has stood aghast, moving off.) Very well, 
sir; then I have only to say that I wash my hands of you 
entirely. {Pause.) You can't make a gentleman out of 
a pig's ear. {Sneeringly). 

Allen. {Puffing quietly at pipe.) No, it ain't the 
usual method. 

Piff. {By door c. muttering to himself, but meant to be 
heard by Allen.) Only what I might have expected from 
mixing myself up with such canaille. {Pauses. Allen 
takes no notice.) Pray understand, sir, I give you a 
week's warning on the spot. My late master, the — 

Allen. {Springing up and throzving book at him.. Piff. 
exits R.) Yes. (Piff. again appears hurriedly at door r. 
and cries, "Upstart bumpkin," and exit quickly.) I'll give 
'ee my toe on the spot if I hear any more of — {reseats 
himself, with a grunt of disgust; a pause, during which he 
smokes.) He is right, I wurn't meant for a gentleman 
after all. Some of us was built for gaiters, and some on 
us for patent leather shoes, and I be one of the gaiter sort 



56 WOODBARROW FARM 

^-all my tastes are low. I doan't like claret and I doan't 
like cigarettes. I'm uncomfortable in a collar {picking 
his up and fixing it) and I prefer shove-ha'penny to bil- 
liards. (Sighs, continues dreamily.) Ah, I'd gie a trifle 
to be going to spend this evening at the Dunkery Arms 
a-halping to sing a chorus with old Joe Steddles and young 
Jem Whalley and Jack Clouter. Ah, he'd got a fine voice, 
had old Jack Clouter. Never heard a man sing so loud 
in all my life. Lord, I shall never forget her's doing 
"Rock me to sleep, mother," round at the lodge, and a 
waking up mother Hammond's three kids just as her'd 
got un all off to sleep. Lord, how her let us have it. 
{Laughing.) Ah, us went home early that night. 
{Chuckling.) Xhey comed back wi' me, old Jack and Jim, 
and Deb made us a veal pasty for supper. {Smiling.) Ah, 
her do make good — 

{Enter Peters, followed by Purtwee, door c, says, 
" Mr. Purtwee," takes P.'s hat and exit. Allen rises and 
commences to pick up his various articles of apparel and 
refix them while talking to Purt.) 
PuRT. {Coming forzvard.) Well, my boy. 
Allen. Ah, it does me good to see thee again. 
Purt. How are you? 

Allen. {Shakes hands.) Oh, I be all right outside. 
{Rises, crosses to L.) Bean't very spry inside, so I tell 'ee. 
{Explanatory of his dressing arrangements.) Just been 
having a quiet smoke, you know. 

Purt. {With a smile.) And do you always undress to 
smoke ? 

Allen. {Laughing.) No — but I has to now when I 
want to sit down comfortable. (Continues to dress — 
brings wine dozvn to table.) Have a glass of wine. I'm 
glad thee've come, I wur afraid from thy letter that thee 
wouldn't. 

Purt. (Sits in arm-chair L.) Well, it's a very informal 
proceeding I'm bound to say — not at all professional. 

Allen. Perhaps not, but it's simple and straightfor- 
ward like and maybe that's as good. Have 'ee read the 
papers I sent thee? 

Purt. Yes— most carefully— and they certainly^ make 
the story appear very plausible — very plausible, indeed. 
Have you said anything to your mother? 

Allen. No — no, I thought I wouldn't say a word to 
anybody until I was sure one way or t'other. (Sits L.) 

Purt. Quite right— quite right. What sort of a man 
was he? 
. Allen. Blest if I could tell 'ee— I wur that taken 



WOODBARROW FARM 57 

aback I couldn't tell 'ee what it war, but thee'll see 
him for theeself in a minute. I told Father Christmas to 
send him straight up when he comes. 

PuRT. (Looking at his watch.) Well, if he's an im- 
postor, he'll hardly venture to come to a meeting of this 
kind. 

(Enter Peters announcing Richard Hanningford, door 
ot back.) 

Pet. Mr. Richard Hanningford. 
(Exit Peters.) 

Hann. Morning, gentlemen. (Allen goes R.C. Hann. 
goes c.) 

Allen. Good-morning. (Motioning to Purt., zvho is 
L.) Mr. Purtwee, the gentleman I spoke of. 

Hann. Good-morning, (c. and then coming r. sits L.C.) 
Guess I'm not a particularly welcome visitor here. 

Allen, (r.) Well, I owns as I've come across folks 
as I've felt more at home wi'. (Allen sits R.) But I sup- 
pose we've got to get used to 'ee. 

Purt. Well now, gentlemen, we've come for business 
and must not waste time. Mr. Rollitt has told you who I 
am, and if you are Richard Hanningford I shall be only 
too anxious for you to have your rights. But then, my 
dear sir, I shall want to be very sure that you are Richard 
Hanningford. 

Hann. That's right and square. I've got to prove it, 
I know, and I don't say that it will be an easy job. 

Purt. At present you see we have nothing but your 
bare word for it. You say this man who called himself 
Richard Hanningford and who died at Mrs. Rollitt's was 
an impostor. 

Hann. And a damned scoundrel. 

Purt. Quite so, if he were not Richard Hanningford, 
he must have been. But then if he were Richard 
Hanningford — 

Hann. Why then, I am the damned scoundrel. 

Purt. Well — I wasn't going to say that — but one of you 
must be the right Hanningford — and the other the wrong 
one — and if we made a mistake three months ago we don't 
want to make another now. 

Allen, (r.) You see it ain't so much the money I 
care about. There was a time that I thought it would be a 
grand thing to be rich, but now I've tried it, danged if I 
see so much fun in it as I thought there wur. (Rises.) 
It ain't only that : it's the girl I love — if I lose the money, I 
loses her. I can't expect her to have me wi'out it. She's 



58 WOODBARROW FARM 

a lady — I'm only a country bumpkin and I know it. With 
this money I can win her and make her life happy — even 
if she doesn't much care for me. If I were sure you were 
Dick Hanningford, I'd gie it up. But I ain't sure and I'm 
going to fight — that's plain. (Turns and crosses r. Sits R.c.) 

Hann. {Goes to Allen r.c.) Plain and sensible, and 
I don't like you any the less for it; but I am Dick Han- 
ningford, and the money's mine, and I'm going to have a 
good fight to get it. (Goes l. puts foot on chair.) 

PuRT. (After a pause.) You say this man who tried 
to — and, as he thought, did — murder you — had been a 
friend of yours. 

Hann. (Fiercely — takes foot off chair.) He'd been 
my chum for oVer two years — the cur — and knew every- 
thing about me — I saved his life when the gang were going 
to hang him — he shared my diggings when we were in the 
mining lay, and he had half my blanket every night when 
we were with the cattle. And I trusted him — the skunk. 

PuRT. What was his name? 

Hann. Cassidy— Dan Cassidy. (Sits again.) 

PuRT. And then he murdered you — or tried to as you 
say — took your papers from you, and came over here to 
impersonate you? 

Hann. I suppose so. 

Allen. He was uncommonly like you, too. 

Hann. Like me! Not at all! 

PuRT. Oh, yes, my dear sir, I never saw him alive, but 
his features were yours one for one. 

Hann. Dan Cassidy was no more like me than I'm like 
a colored angel out of a picture book. 

(PuRT. and Allen exchange glances.) 

Allen. Well, all I know is, that if the man who called 
himself Richard Hanningford, and who fell down deadin 
my mother's kitchen three months ago was standing beside 
you now, nobody would know which wur you and which 
wur him. 

Hann. (Rising.) I don't know that man! (All rise 
and look at one another.) 

(Enter Peters c.) 

PuRT. (Pause.) Then what has become of Dan 
Cassidy? 

Peters. Mr. Luke Cranbourne is downstairs, sir, and 
would like to see you. 

Allen. Oh, bother Luke Cranbourne— tell him I'm out. 

Peters. Yes, sir. (Going. As he is by door.) 

Allen. Stop! (Peters turns.) Ask Mr. Cranbourne 
to come back in a quarter of an hour. (Looks at watch.) 



WOODBARROW FARM 59 

Peters. Yes, sir. (Exit c.) 

Allen. What sort of a man was Dan Cassidy? 

Hann. a pale, dark-eyed man with a long black 
beard. 

Allen. Would you know him again without the black 
beard, and under another name ? 

Hann. (Fiercely.) Know him! Will you bring me 
face to face with him? 

Allen. Maybe I will. 

Hann. (c.) See here! I've lived among a set that 
like to wipe off a score, no matter what the price. You 
put that man into my hands so that justice may be done on 
him, and we share the old man's money between us. 
(Crosses R.) 

Allen. Is that a bargain? 

PuRT. You don't suspect — (goes to R. of L. table.) 

Allen. (Crosses to Purt. Hann. goes R.) Yes I do. 
He's been no friend of mine. Is it a bargain? 

Hann. Yes. Without Dan Cassidy my case might be 
hard to prove. With him it would be easy. £100,000 and 
my revenge are good enough for me. You give me that. 
(Goes to extreme R.) 

{Enter Dexter from door c. He draws back on seeing 
strangers, and stands R. c.) 

Dex. Beg pardon, my dear boy. Found the door open 
(Allen goes up c. to Dex.) and took the liberty of an 
old friend to walk in. Thought I should find you alone. 

Allen. (Crosses up c.) Shall be in a minute, Colonel, 
if you will excuse me. (Drazvs the tzuo men together near 
fireplace, Allen nearest, Purt. next, Hann. r.) Can thee 
play billiards? 

Hann. I can, but I don't crave for them at this par- 
ticular moment. 

Allen. You'll just have time to play fifty up afore the 
man as I takes to be Dan Cassidy is here. 

Purt. How will you let us know? 

Allen. (Looks round thinking, then catches sight of 
glasses on table l.; takes one up and holds it over hearth.) 
Keep thee, ears open, and when thee hears this glass 
fall and break, open the door and come in. (All go up c. 
speaking low.) 

(Exit Purt. and Hann. Dex. goes l.) 

Allen. (Returning c.) Well, Colonel Dexter, what do 
thee want? Glad to see thee, thee know. 

Dex. (l.c.) Nothing, dear boy — nothing for myself. 
I have only brought a letter from my little girl, and am to 



6o WOODBARROW FARM 

take back an answer. {Produces letter and hands to 
Allen.) I'm only Cupid to you young folks. Ha! Hat 
Only Cupid. 

Allen. Ah, they usen't to wrap 'em up so much when 
I wur young. {Crosses R., opens and reads letter.) 

Dex. {Who is very much wrapped and buttoned up, 
laughs zvith much ostentation.) Ha! Ha! Very good, 
very good. We really must bring you out more, Allen. 
Ha! Ha! Ha! 

Allen. {Who has sat R. in front of desk, reading.) 
"My darling Popsy-wopsy." {Looks up puzzled and round 
at Dex. Aside.) That ain't Clara's usual style. {Reads.) 
"I am so terribly sorry to worry my own darling boy, but 
I am in such fearful trouble — I want iioo to pay some 
debts owing to a wicked man having cheated us. Would 
my own darling lend it to his broken-hearted little blos- 
som, and don't say anything to me afterwards until I pay 
you back, as I shall be so ashamed of it. I send papa 
with this. He knows nothing about it, so please don't tell 
him — he is so proud. — (Allen looks at Dex., who turns 
away and tries to assume airy unconsciousness) — and 
would be so angry with me, but you are the only friend I 
have. Oh, my darling, do let me have the money or I shall 
go mad. A million, million kisses to my own sweet, pre- 
cious lubby-dubby from his ever loving little birdie, Clara." 
(Dex. sits c.) "P. S. — Please don't cross the cheque." 
{Takes cheque-book from desk and begins to write.) Was 
Clara ill when she wrote this? 

Dex. {Who is sitting at table L.c. having wine.) No, 
my dear boy — oh, no. 

Allen. Oh, because the writing seems a bit shaky like, 
and the letter so funny — thought maybe she wur a bit 
queer. 

Dex. {Confused.) Oh — ah — yes. She was a little 
queer — very shaky indeed— and she seemed very much 
worried, too, she wouldn't tell me what about. She tries 
to keep all her trouble away from her old father, dear 
child. {Enter Clara unseen by either.) Ah, I know how 
anxiously she's waiting for me now. "Come back soon, 
dear, dear papa," she said — "and bring it with you." 
{Crying r.c.) 

(Allen having put the cheque in an envelope rises and 
crosses and holds it to Dex. Clara steps forward and 
takes it.) 

Clara. Thank you ! (c. of the two men.) 

Allen. Miss Dexter! 

Dex. Clara ! 



WOODBARROW FARM 6i 

Clara. This letter is addressed to me, I believe. 
{Opens it and takes out cheque, which she returns to 
Allen.) It's very kind of you, Mr. RoUitt, but I do not 
require it. 

Allen, (r.) Didn't thee write for it? (Shozving 
letter to her.) Isn't this thy letter? 

Clara. {Looking at it.) It is the first time I have 
seen it. It has the appearance of having been written by 
someone who was drunk over night — possibly my father 
— imitating other people's handwriting is one of the few 
things at which he has attained eminence. {Looks 
at Dex.) 

Dex. Clara, my dear! 

Clara. And perhaps it will be better, Mr. RoUitt, for 
me to take this opportunity of ending our relationship by 
telling you that I am already married. {Crosses l.) 

Allen. {Starts back.) Married! 

Dex. (c. frantic and jumping about and screaming and 
hissing the words out.) She ain't. It's a lie. Don't 
believe her. She ain't. She ain't. {Goes c. Clara to l.) 
It's only a trick to try your love. Ah, you hussy ! It's 
all been planned. This is all part of it. She ain't married. 
We planned it to test your love for her. Ah, you beast! 
I'll strangle you. I'll murder you. She's only trying it on 
to see what you say. It's a trick. Don't believe her. 
Don't believe her. 

Clara. And have been for the last three years. 

Dex. {As before.) No, she ain't been, Mr. RolHtt. 
It's a lie — it's a lie. It's a lie. She says it to spite her 
old father. Ah you devil, you — 

Allen. Silence ! 

Dex. {Cowed, but continuing in nervous undertone.) 
She's not married. I'm her father. 

Allen. {Pointing to door c.) And leave the room — 
afore I forget thee art an old man. {Turns him R. Backs 
Dex. up to c. door.) 

Dex. {Slinks out muttering.) She ain't married! It's 
a lie. It's a lie. {Repeats till 

{Exit Dex. c.) 

Allen. {Turning to Clara.) What does it all mean? 

Clara. {Defiantly.) That I've been playing with you 
only for the sake of sponging on you. And to get money 
out of you for my father and husband — I haven't had much 
myself — and that at last I'm grown tired of it. {Crosses r.) 

Allen, (l.c. after a pause.) Thee might have had all 
the money thee wanted, lass, wi'out deceiving me. 

Clara. {Falling on her knees before him.) Forgive 



62 WOODBARROW FARM 

me, Allen, you don't know what my life has been. Drag- 
ged up among thieves and sharpers, taught to trick and 
lie before I could speak plainly, I have never know what 
truth and honor meant except as a dim longing. All the 
humanity — all the womanhood — has been dried out of me 
till I am only the thing you see me — a vulture — a human 
beast of prey. Ah, Allen, thank God for your sake that 
I am married and that you have escaped me— forget me — 
it is the only thing you can do. You can never hate me 
as I loathe myself — you can never despise me as I shudder 
at my own life. 

Allen. {Puts his hand to his own forehead) Poor 
lass! Poor lass! 

Clara. (Takes' Allet^'s hand, left.) You are the only 
man that has been good to me, and I have brought you 
only pain and shame. 

Allen. (Raising her.) Ah, never mind that, lass. 
Thee didn't mean to do it. Come! I be more sorry for 
thee than for myself. I could see what sort of life thee 
had got around thee, and I wanted to take thee away from 
it all. I can do so little for thee now. (Both at cabinet, 
Allen r.) 

Clara. You have taught me, Allen, that there are good 
men in the world; forgive me for having taught you that 
there are bad women. (Clara crosses in front of Allen 
to R. door.) 

Allen. Not bad, Clara. I guess thee's been more sin- 
ned against than sinning. Thy life has been very dark and 
thee's stumbled here and there. God grant that it may 
grow brighter for thee one day. 

Clara, (l.) Ah, Allen, don't keep speaking kindly to 
me. Don't think kindly of me. Despise me — I can bear 
that — I am used to it. (Sits at cabinet.) 

Allen. (r.c. next to Clara.) No, lass, I can't do that. 
I shall alius think kindly of thee. I've loved thee too well 
to change now — because I knows thy lot's harder than I 
thought it wur. 

Clara. (Turns and looks at Allen.) Try not to think 
of me at all, Allen — I am not worth it — forget me. There 
is one who loves you better than I could ever do, and who 
is good and pure. (Rises.) You men never see the love 
that is under your feet — you reach only for what is beyond 
you. Go back to her, Allen. She will make you a better 
wife than I could ever have done. (Allen at back of 
Clara up stage r.) 

Allen. (After a pause.) Who— who is this man — 
your husband? 



WOODBARROW FARM 63 

Clara. Luke Cranbourne! {She does not look at 
Allen. ) 

Allen. Luke Cranbourne! {Looks nervously at door 
C. and then at clock — then crosses to door and stands near 
it. He assumes to do this naturally and not to let Clara 
notice his anxiety.) 

Clara. We were married secretly before he left for 
America. Not even my father knew it until a day or two 
ago. 

Allen. And do you care for him? (Allen at door c.) 

Clara. With such love as a woman can feel without 
respect. He was the first that I can remember ever speak- 
ing a kind word to me. He is the only human being I 
have to cling to — and he is good to me in his way. (Looks 
up at Allen.) I don't expect we shall ever see each other 
again. For your sake, I wish we had never met — for 
myself, my life will always seem a bit brighter for the 
love that an honest man once had for me. 

Allen. {Taking her hand in his.) Good-bye — if ever 
thee wants a friend, Allen RoUitt, Woodbarrow Farm, 
Exmoor, will find him. {Kissing her on the forehead.) 
God bless thee, Clara ! 

Clara. Good-bye! (She goes without a word R. After 
a few seconds enter Luke c. announced by Pet.) 

Luke. {Coming dozvn.) How de do, dear boy? {Shak- 
ing hands. Allen does so listlessly and almost uncon- 
sciously.) I wanted to see you particularly this morning, 
before I went to the city. I've come across something 
that will just double your fortune. Here. (Laying papers 
on table l. and taking up and pouring out a glass of zvine.) 
You do have such capital wine, Rollitt, I really must help 
myself to a glass. It is a splendid scheme. 

Allen, (r.c.) Very like, but we won't discuss it now. 
{Taking notes from his pocket-book.) I want thee to 
leave by the noon train for the Continent. 

Luke. (Turns round, face to audience, glass in left 
hand.) What's up? 

Allen. (Crosses l. c, hands him the notes.) Thy 
wife can join thee there afterwards. (Luke starts and 
looks hard at Allen.) And thee can get away to Aus- 
tralia, or somewhere in that direction. 

Luke. (Defiantly.) And why, pray? 

Allen. Because there is a man in the next room who 
be more anxious to see thee than thee may be to see him. 

Luke. What man? 

Allen. Richard Hanningford. 

(Luke lets fall the glass.) 



€4 WOODBARROW FARM 

Allen. Good God! Thee've given the signal to call 
him in! Quick! (Luke rushes in terror to door at back.) 
Not that way. (Luke bewildered and helpless zvith fright, 
turns wildly about like a hunted thing not knozving which 
way to fly. Is about to make for other door, when handle 
of door at back is heard to move.) Too late — keep where 
thee art. 

Luke. (Clinging to Allen's arm.) Save me! (Allen 
thrusts him behind door at c. as it opens and enter Hann. 
and PuRT. following. Allen goes r. Hann. comes down 
and stands c. Purt. remains near door and is about to 
close it.) 

Allen. (Who has moved down to R. c, nervously, with 
effort to appear calm and careless.) Leave the door, Mr. 
Purtwee, leave the door. 

Purt. Wide open? (Surprised.) 

Allen. Yes, yes, it's fearfully hot in here! (Wiping 
his brow.) 

Hann. (Looking at him suspiciously.) I don't find it 
«o. I think we'll have it shut over this job. (Turns to 
door.) 

Allen. (Eagerly.) No, no! Don't shut it — don't 
shut it. 

Hann. Why not? (Looks hard at Allen.) 

Allen. Why — why — don't I tell you. It's so close — so — 

(Hann. crosses, goes to door c. and locks it, then 
returns, eyeing Allen sternly. Luke has crept behind the 
curtain, which hangs like a pillar by the side of the door. 
Allen watches with intense suspense.) 

Hann. (c.) Well— you gave the signal ! 

(Allen r.c. a little to front of Hann. He keeps in front 
of Hann. all through the scene until Luke has got away 
and prevents his turning round — he is very excited but 
tries to appear careless — the result being a slightly hyster- 
ical manner. When Luke comes from behind the curtain 
and while he is crossing Allen catches Hann. by the lapels 
of his coat and holds and zvorks him round so that his back 
is to Luke. He grows more and more eager and intense 
until Luke is off, zvhen he gradually subsides into a quieter 
manner, but not too suddenly. At Hann.'.? hint that he has 
had too much brandy, he catches at the idea to cover his 
excitement, to acount for his conduct.) 

Allen. Yes, my dear fellow— but— but— I wur going 
to explain to thee— it wurn't the signal— it wur an accident. 
I dropped the glass by accident. Thee see I had just had 
a glass of brandy. 



WOODBARROW FARM 65 

Hann. More than one glass, cousin? 

Allen. {Laughs loudly.) Ha! ha! Perhaps it wur 
two. (First movement of Luke.) (At this point Luke 
creeps from behind curtain, Purt. sees him and is about to 
make an exclamation, when Allen, covering his action by 
assumed drunkenness, lunges half round and catches Purt. 
on his shoulder, clutching it tightly zvith his left hand 
while holding Hann. zvith his right— laughing boisterously 
all the time. Purt. understands and ronains silent. Allen 
grows more and more excited. Laughs.) Well, now, look 
'ee here, Hanningford. Cousin Dick — my long lost— 
(laughs as before and slaps him on the shoulder. Hann. 
impatient half turns round — Allen seizes his coat with 
both hands and keeps him round.) No — no — look thee 
here. Cousin Dick. Now you say this Cassidy, this creep- 
ing, crawling, lying cur, Dan Cassidy, tried to murder 
thee — (Hann. again seems as though he would turn 
round) — and these papers — these papers that you sent me. 
Well, I sent 'em on to Purtwee. Ah, he's a sharp one. 
(Door clicks after L.vke's exit.) Purtwee, he'll know 
who's who. He'll put us right. Won't 'ee, Purtwee, old 
friend? Won't 'ee — won't 'ee? 

(He slaps Purt. on back, laughing boisterously and half 
staggering forward into Purt.'j arms. Luke has got away 
by door r., and from now Allen's excitement gradually 
subsides, and an air of exhaustion follows. Sits l.c.) 

Hann. (c.) Say! Are you drunk or playing the fool? 
Where's this man Cassidy? 

Allen. (Pause.) I don't know. 

Hann. Isn't he coming here? 

Allen. No ! 

Hann. (Angrily.) Didn't you lead me to believe — 

Allen. That you should be brought face to face wi' 
him? Yes — but I've changed my mind since then. 

Hann. (After a pause.) I understand: it was only a 
trick to give you time to get him out of the way. You 
thought that without him I should not be able to prove 
my case. I thought I was dealing with an honest man and 
a friend, and I offered to share the money with you. 
(With tierce anger.) 

Allen. (Fiercely, rising.) And I tell you to take the 
whole of it! (A pause — Hann. steps back and stares at 
him.) _ I have learnt enough within the last few minutes 
to believe that you are the man you say you are, and if so, 
take It all. You offered me £100,000 to give thee Dan 
Cassidy, I offer thee £200,000 to let him go his way in 
peace. (Pause.) Come, you may find it hard to prove 



66 WOODBARROW FARM 

thee art Hanningford afore the law. Prove it to me and 
Mr. Purtwee, and give me thy hand on it that thee'll 
never seek to find Dan Cassidy or harm him, and thee art 
old Hanningford's heir, and I, Allen RoUitt, farmer and 
yeoman. 

Hann. {After a pause.) Your secrets are your own, 
cousin. I'd dearly have loved to have my revenge upon 
the hound, but if Dan Cassidy is worth iioo,ooo to you, 
you can have him — I shouldn't have thought he was. 

Allen. He goes free, so far as you are concerned, 
for ever? 

Hann. For ever. 

Allen. Right, Dick Hanningford! {They grasp 
hands.) And now we'll say good-bye for to-day if you 
don't mind. Mr.' Purtwee will see thee to-morrow, and 
arrange things. I'd like to be quiet a bit just now. 

Hann. You've had a rough morning, cousin, and I 
guess the kindest thing I can do is to take myself off. 
Good-bye. {Shakes hands.) Good-bye, Mr. Purtwee. 

PuRT. Good-bye, Mr. Hanningford ; I will write to you 
to-morrow. 

Hann. {Goes to door c.) No hurry. Good-bye. 

{Exit c.) 

PuRT. Well, I can't understand you, my boy. It's 
really a very Quixotic thing to do. Why shouldn't the 
man suffer for his crime? 

Allen, (l.) Because he can't suffer without bringing 
suffering to them as I'd rather spare — because he's the 
husband of the woman I have been calling Clara Dexter. 

PuRT. {Astonished.) You don't say that, lad! When 
did you learn it? 

Allen. About five minutes ago. {Crosses to r.; leans 
on chair.) 

PuRT. {After a pause.) Hanningford said true; it's 
been a rough morning for you. {Going tip to Allen and 
laying his hand on his shoulder.) Would you rather that 
I stopped with you a bit, lad, or left you alone? 

Allen. Leave me alone, old friend. (Purt. goes to 
C. door.) I shall be off soon. 

Purt. {At door c.) Where are you going to? 

Allen. I'm going back to Woodbarrow Farm. I've 
had eno' of the big world. I've had enough of fine folks 
and their ways. I'm going back to my own people — I'm 
going back to see the faces of them as I know loves me, 
to feel the hands of them as I know thinks well of me — 
I'm going back home. 

LofC. 



WOODBARROW FARM 67 

(PuRT. exit R., Allen stands l. by tire, stage darkens, and 
scene changes. Slow tableau. Music plays till change of 
scene and through Scene 2.) 

Scene 2. Same as Act i. Time, evening, tire burning 
brightly, and lamp lit on table, where supper is 
laid. Deb. discovered by tire, attending to cook- 
ing operations; Mrs. R. by tire, laying supper. 

Mrs. R. Be it done, lass? 

Deb. (Who is kneeling down, looking into oven.) Yes, 
aunt, just to a turn. 

Mrs. R. (Crossing and looking over Deb.'s shoulder.) 
Ah, that be just right. Thee's a good cook, lass. (Cross- 
ing back to table.) Ah, how un used to like a veal 
pasty. (Sighs.) 

Deb. It's a bad thing going to bed, though, ain't it, 
aunt? 

Mrs. R. Ah, anything be bad for them as ain't got no 
stomachs, and underdone bricks be all right for them as 
has. (Gets dishes from dresser; lays table.) Besides, we 
bain't going to bed yet. Us'll sit and have a chat after 
supper. 

Deb. It seems so lonely of an evening here now. 
(Looking into tire.) 

Mrs. R. (In front of table r. c.) So it do, lass. 
(Crossing L.) Ah, the lads bean't so big to look at, but 
they leaves a rare space behind 'em when they goes away. 

Deb. (After a pause, still gazing dreamily into fire.) 
I wonder if he'll ever come back. 

Mrs. R. Aye, aye; he'll come back, never fear. 

Deb. (Turns.) What, to stop? 

Mrs. R. (l. sits on settle.) Ah, to stop. 

Deb. What makes you think so, aunt? 

Mrs. R. I dunno. It's never seemed real to me, any 
on it. I'm awaiting every day to hear un lift the latch 
and walk in to find as it had all been a dream. So I 
alius lays for three (l.) 

(Enter Allen c. He is dressed much as in Act I. He 
shuts the door and stands by it.) 

Allen. Well, mother, (c.) 

Mrs. R. (u staring at him.) Allen, lad! (Bewildered, 
not grasping it. Deb. having risen, stands with the hot 
pie that she has that moment taken from the oven, trans- 
fixed R.) 

Allen. (At door c.) I've come home, you see, to 
stop — for good. Are thee glad to see me, mother? 



68 WOODBARROW FARM 

Mrs. R. (l.) Come home! To stop! For good! 
Ah! (Rushes across with a cry of joy and hugs him up 
c.) I said he would — I said he would — I said he would. 
My boy! My boy! (After a pause.) And — and all the 
money, and — and Miss Dexter? 

Allen. (Taking off his hat and throwing it down at 
back.) Shadows, mother, that have passed away, out of 
my life, for ever. I'll tell thee all about it later on, never 
mind to-night. Let's think only about ourselves. (Go- 
ing to Deb. r.) Are thee glad to see me? 

(Mrs. R. pushes them together from behind R. Deb. 
still with pie in her hands, puts her face up. Allen bends 
and kisses it. Mrs. R. catches the two in her arms, and 
embraces both at once, laughing. Deb. holds pie out at 
arm's length to save it.) 

Allen. Mind the pie, mother. 

Mrs. R.(Still embracing them.) Are thee hungry, lad? 

Allen. Rather. 

Mrs. R. Bless un, and thee've come back just in time 
for supper, as thee alius used to. (Laughs, sits up stage, 
top of table.) Can thee eat veal pasty? 

Allen. Can I eat veal — (taking off overcoat and 
throwing it on chair R. c.) Let me get at un, that's all. 

Mrs. R. Poor boy! Come and sit 'ee down. (Push- 
ing him in chair L. of table.) Where be the potatoes, 
Deb. ? 

Deb. (Bewildered, turns round and round.) I don't 
know. (Laughs.) 

Mrs. R. Well, have a look in the saucepan, then. (Sits 
back of table R. c. Allen l. Deb. r.) Thee won't find 'em 
by turning round and round. Now come lad, and get a 
bit inside thee. Us'll do the talking afterwards. 

(Deb. potters about between fire and table in a bewil- 
dered manner. She brings potatoes, and puts them in 
front of Allen.) 

Allen. Ah, it do smell lovely, don't it? (Sniffing at pie.) 

Mrs. R. Never thee mind smelling it, thee taste it. 
Lud, how thin thee art looking, lad. (To Deb. who is 
almost doing so.) Don't pour the beer into the pie, child, 
and look where thee's put the potatoes! (Takes jug 
away from her.) 

Deb. (Sitting down, laughing.) I don't know what 
I'm doing. (Takes saucepan off table.) 

Mrs. R. Well, us can see that. 

Allen. And how's everything been going on? How's 
the colt? 



WOODBARROW FARM 69 

Mrs, R. Kicked Parsons clean into the ditch yester- 
morning, the little dear! (AH are now seated.) 

Allen. No, did un? (Laughs.) 

Deb. One of the guinea hens is dead, the little one of 
all. 

Allen. What, the one as used to squint? 

Deb. Yes, Parsons left his shot on the pigstye wall, 
and she ate two ounces. Oh, and you remember Jim? 

Allen. What, the bantam? 

Deb. Yes. He's given his own father such a licking, 
and won't let him come near the yard. 

Allen. (Laughing heartily.) Plucky little beggar! 
Serve the old 'un right. He wur always a bully. Now, 
mother — (about to hand her the pie.) Why, mother, thee 
art crying! 

Mrs. R. (Crying.) No, I ain't. Go on with thee 
supper, lad. 

Allen. (Looking at Deb.) And— why, here be Deb. 
crying too ! 

(The two women laugh through their tears. Allen 
joins them as curtain descends.) 

Mrs. R. It's wi' joy, lad; it's wi' joy! 

Slow Curtain. 



FRENCH'S LIBRARY EDITION OF PLAYS. 

50 CENTS EACH. 

M F 

1 . MAQDA. A Play in 4 Acts. By Hermann Sudermann. 

This play is considered the masterpiece of the great German 
dramatist, and the translation is by Charles Edward Emory 
Winslow. Thisis the version played by Mrs. Patrick Campbell 
with enormous success in this country 6 8 

2. WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. A Comedy in 4 

Acts. By H. V. Esmond, author of " One Summer's Day," 
etc. Produced with great success by Mr. N. C. Goodwin and 
Maxine Elliott 9 5 

3. LADY HUNTWORTH'S EXPERIMENT. A Comedy 

in 3 Acts. By R. C. Carton, author of "Liberty Hall," 

" Lord and Lady Algy," etc., etc 6 4 

4. AN AMERICAN CITIZEN. An Original Comedy in 

4 Acts. By Madeleine Lucette Ryley. This particularly 
bright comedy was produced with enormous success by Mr. 
N. C. Goodwin and played by him for a number of years .... 8 6 

5. A COUNTRY MOUSE. A Satirical Comedy in 3 Acts. 

By Arthur Law, author of "The New Boy," etc., etc. Produced 
with great success by Miss Ethel Barrymore 6 4 

6. The New Boy. A Farcical Play in 3 Acts. By Arthur 

Law, author of "A Country Mouse," "The Judge," etc., etc... 6 3 

7. WOODBARROW FARM. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 

By Jerome K. Jerome, author of " Barbara," " Sunset," etc 11 4 

8. BILLIE'S LITTLE LOVE AFFAIR. A Comedy in 3 

Acts. By H. V. Esmond, author of "One Summer's Dav." 
"When We Were Twenty-One," etc., etc. This comedy was 
produced last season under the title of "Imprudence," with 
Mr William Faversham in the leading role 8 6 

9. LADY WINDEMERE'S FAN. A Play in 4 Acts. 

By Oscar Wilde. This play is too well known to require any 
special introduction. It has been considered Mr. Wilde's best 
play 7 6 



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